Have you ever heard the wonderful silence just before the dawn? Or the quiet and calm just as a storm ends? Or perhaps you know the silence when you haven’t the answer to a question you’ve been asked, or the hush of a country road at night, or the expectant pause of a room full of people when someone is just about to speak, or, most beautiful of all, the moment after the door closes and you’re alone in the whole house? Each one is different, you know, and all very beautiful if you listen carefully.
This Friday evening is a quiet end to an exhausting week.
It feels like weeks have gone by without a truly quiet moment.
My blog went quiet for two weeks.
And that was fine.
Sunday mornings are for Segovia and reading.
It is dark already, and I am out here again, talking, telling the story to the quiet night.
At 5:10 this morning the city was so still that the chirping of birds overpowered the sound of any and all street traffic on our block.
An airport drop-off later, the tide had turned.
You are at once both the quiet and the confusion of my heart; imagine my heartbeat when you are in this state.
Letters to Felice
Sometimes I wake up early to have the world and all its quiet to myself.