A muffler of heavy snow shrouds my world. Only a few inches, but enough. Fallen snow can create a cavernous silence. Sound catches in it and rolls up like a huge snow ball to sit and wait for a thaw. Then it breaks loose again, noisy, intrusive, grating. Until then, a snowy night is a perfect night for contemplation.
A Feast of Silence.
In silence time passes less swift and mechanical for you cannot hear its deadly tick, tock, tick, tock, tick, tock.
In silence ideas fly free as chickadees, flitting from one bare branch to another leaving imagination in their wake.
In silence loneliness lurks, waffle soled boots, mud covered, leaving indentations and scuffs on my heart.
In silence words and stories climb out of their caves and sit in front of me like blinking children woken from fabulous dreams.
In silence I hunger for the sweet voice, familiar, resonant, of the one I love.
In silence questions pry up the rocky places in my soul and leave them bare, tender, trembling for answers.
In silence memories wander back up the trail, slapping me on the back, bidding me good day, treating or troubling me according to their given names.
In silence dreams roll over white and billowy and laden, so dragging dark bottoms.
In silence fear scrabbles up my legs.
In silence freedom like a wind drives impossibilities before it, leaving only windswept possibilities.
In silence I hear my own beating heart, the rushing of my own breath, the ticking of my own clock asking, “Is . . . There . . . Someone . . . Out . . . There?”
In silence I feel His voice fill the empty space. Yes, I am.