The sun tries to break through. The clouds that gathered will not scatter. A temperature more consistent with spring than summer holds steady. It was perfect weather to repair the paver stones on the front stoop, or write outside all morning. I did neither, becoming lost in folly on the internet.
And so the usual chorus of condemnatory voices arises from my enflamed conscience, stifiling the sounds around me. I do hear the neighborhood dogs barking, the companion insects to the cicadas chirping, the rustle of leaves, the acceleration of a distant engine with the tailpipe cut. But I hear them through the troubled silence I erect to shroud away all my “should haves…” and “should not haves…”
Such a contrived silence is so different from the natural one that speaks through every utterance of nature. That lifegiving silence will nourish any that listen.
I wait to be one of them again.
high summer breeze
the ecstatic moment seeing
a summer flower
the mournful next moment
when the petals wilt away
for dVerse Poets Tuesday Poetics: Sounds of Silence (guest pubtended by Dwight Roth)