Saturday, June 20, 2009

Square 25: Silence

Square 025

Arriving near midnight, emerging from the car, I am wrapped in the green fragrance of mixed conifer and deciduous forest. The night is perfectly still. After leaving my baggage in the cottage, I go down to the dock to survey the lake.

The sky is a smudgy black. A few of the brightest stars muscle through the ragged shroud. The water does not move. A bullfrog booms from the far shore. Green frogs mutter quizzically nearby. A tree frog peeps incessantly near the point. Fireflies blink over the bay, scribing an esoteric text across the scroll of darkness. Two loons call in the distance.

By now all anxiety has fallen away. I could sit here in the heart of the night forever, listening to whispers of silence, letting it bathe my mind and body.

By mid-afternoon a quiet but steady shower has settled in. Again the lake is perfectly calm and draws me back to the dock, but I do not stay.

I have always wondered how the rain makes a patchwork of silver and grey on still water. It’s as if the rain is heavier in places, but no matter how long I stand and watch, the pattern does not shift. It waits until I’m not looking. The gods are playing with jigsaw puzzles.

I sit in the living room with the sliding door open, listening through the screen. The watery sky tickles the trees, another voice of silence. The cleansing continues.

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