Saturday, March 6, 2010

Silence is golden

From my notebook in the field

All I can hear is the gurgling of water, falling over rocks and tree roots, the chirp of woodland birds and the flutter of their feathers.

Fallen trees lie dead in the water, their rough bark long since washed away, their skin bleached by the blazing sun.

The birds dive closer, testing their invaders' will, but we go nowhere.

No drivers honk at each other in futile fits of rage.

No phones beep to indicate a message received.

No news of strife or destruction blasts from a box in the corner.

The silence is broken only by nature, my camera whirring and clicking, Shep's collar clinking as he moves to watch the birds.

And there exists only peace.







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