Silence

Looking out the window of my apartment, the sun struggles to find its way into my room this morning. The view that I usually have of downtown is muted; the relentless fog has made the scene its playground this morning, and its cold hands grip it refusing to let go. The sound of cars passing by seems distant and their hunting cries are absent; they hide under the cover of the fog as if afraid of scaring it away. The buildings across the street seem sleepy, quiet, and serene. This morning is calm and the silence still remains.

The crows, and from time to time a car passing by break the deep silence – like the jerks a body makes sometimes, like the tossing and turning before waking up. This morning the sounds seem faded, a melody of peaceful quietness. I can see the trees in the distance, the wind caressing and flirting with them, gently moving and dancing in a mesmerizing choreography of rhythms. The minutes and seconds have been stripped from the clock across the room. This morning has been captured in a motionless moment in time.

I close my eyes and let the silence of the morning take my thoughts. They slowly drift in a sailboat of consciousness, taken by the soft playful wind, out of the reach of the bonny grip of the world and into the ocean of fantasies, beyond the reach or reality and into the land of impossible dreams. The sailboat moves up and down to the rhythm of the silence, gently moving over the rocking waves of the sea, over the ever present “ifs” and “could be”.

My body, under a spell, relaxed, submerged in the sweet music of the non-existing noise. My eyes are closed refusing to obey. The air fills my nostrils and brings with it the sweet aroma of the flowers five floors below, their perfume making its way up and wanting to be found, looking for attention, searching for a lover to share its life.

The sunlight begins to filter through. The seemingly long struggle with the fog is coming to an end. The roaring engines of cars on the street pull my thoughts back from their calming voyage. The buildings yawn and open their eyes to welcome the new day, and suddenly the piercing and indifferent scream of the phone claims the morning; it is over, and the orchestra of silence retires with the fog and the smell of flowers. The gentle wind has been subdued and my thoughts have been pulled back to the shore of reality; the silence is gone, for now the silence is gone.




Counter