The Sounds of Silence

Sunday afternoon. The sky is blue, the breeze is gentle, the clouds are white and puffy. I quit my reading and walk outside. It is too beautiful to stay indoors. There is a difference from early morning when I went outside to tend to our backyard chickens. They were fussing for their treats with the demanding clucking that insisted, "feed me, feed me." The neighbor was mowing his lawn and trucks were rumbling down the alley.

This afternoon is strangely silent. The chickens and the lawn mowers have gone still and at this point in time there are no cars or trucks passing in the front or in the alley. The only sounds I hear are a few chirpings from some distant birds high in the elms. A bird glides silently past and a lone robin on the grass in the back yard is equally noiseless in his concentrated quest for worms.

What happened to the sounds of laughter from the neighborhood children bouncing on the trampoline? Actually what happened to all of the people usually passing by on the sidewalk or crunching down the unpaved alley? Where is everyone?

The hush hangs heavily and delightfully. This is so rare and such a treat. I sit in the lawn chair drinking in the stillness. After a time a hear a faint meow. The alley cat, Muddy, has just woken from his nap under the picnic table. The late afternoon sun has reached his place of rest and may have warmed him to his waking point, or it could be that it is getting close to his dinner time when he expects food provided for him in return for his keeping our yard mouse free.

He jumps on my lap, turning and rubbing, but, as always, he remains purr-less, respecting the silence for my continued pleasure. Two cars pass quietly by. Strangely absent is the roar from muffler-less trucks or motorcycles.  There is no buzzing from the bees who have recently departed seeking flowers still in blossom. Our roses are just beginning their pink, red and yellow appearances while the tulips, alliums and poppies in swift succession have taken to seed for the season.

Ah, peace and quiet! My husband returns from his place of work downtown, informing me that it is equally deserted on the main street. He switches on the TV and I am abruptly returned to the world of sound. The silence was delicious while it lasted.  

I am grateful for the afternoon interlude of serenity and solitude.

Drip, Drip, Drip

Chilly and wet, a typical October day. This is the type of day that calls for hot chili, cocoa, a good book and snuggling up by a fire. It is a forecast of the colder, gray days to come, with less sun, longer nights and, hopefully, more time for musing, reflecting and absorbing.

It seems that there have been more and more days of activity, filled with meetings, letter writing, group activities, fund raisers, etc., etc. Today, soggy and gloomy, is a reminder of quieter days to come...days for renewal and rejuvenation, days to catch up on those un-finished magazines, days to sleep in without guilt or a to-do list. Everyone can use these kind of days.

Today is one of them. I will close this blog with ahhhhhhhh, I am retuning to the fire, in cozy slippers, with a book. Do not disturb!

Beneath the Avalanche

You know those days....the ones where you feel overwhelmed, covered with too much to do, too little time, etc, etc. Well I was having one last night. I had attended a rally protesting the opening of in-situ uranium mining in our beautiful Black Hills and arrived home to a phone call from someone needing assistance, an email about the Environmental Impact Study regarding saving our VA now in process and needing our written comments, another email from someone working on my web site needing immediate attention, and......I sorta lost it!

Today, in the light of another day, I am looking at everything more clearly. The most helpful was a poem that I received from a friend who is likewise overwhelmed with issues. I am digesting it as I write and will now pass it on to my readers.

"GOLDEN RETRIEVALS"          BY MARK DOTY

Fetch? Balls and sticks capture my attention
seconds at a time. Catch? I don't think so.
Bunny, tumbling leaf, a squirrel who's - oh
joy - actually scared. Sniff the wind, then

I'm off again: muck, pond, ditch, residue
of any thrillingly dead thing. And you?
Either your sunk in the past, half our walk,
thinking of what you never can bring back,

or else you're off in some fog concerning
--tomorrow, is that what you call it? My work:
to unsnare time's warp (and woof!), retrieving,
my haze-headed friend, you. This shining bark,

a Zen master's bronzy gong, calls you here,
entirely, now: bow-wow, bow-wow, bow-wow.