The Joy of the Quiet

Rose

When I disappear into the quiet, it’s not silence I hear but the world I’m part of. There is no need for a translator; like laughter, the meaning is universal. A beeping, honking car that raises no alarm, a plane coming in to land, my neighbour’s radio, a kid pedalling fast then slow along the street and back again, the clock ticking off time. Wind and trees whisper to each other with a tender intimacy. Then there are the birds, telling stories. Here I am in my body, my mind knows only the sounds around me. I am listening. I am listening. I am listening.

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