One of the greatest gifts living in this rural location is quietude. It’s the gift I needed to learn to appreciate, one that can easily be left on the shelf.
We crowed out the silence with all types of fillers, the radio in the car, the tv, the i pod. Anything to create a bubble of white noise that can keep us from the subtle and at time strange music that is the world of quietude.
The gurgling brook speaks the voice of silence, as does the crow now flying over the hill. And the distant notes of a child’s recorder, somewhat mournful and slightly flat, summoning imaginary friends out of the shadows.
The sound scape ties us aurally to the environment differently than our sight. I wonder, is it silence or reality itself that we are trying to keep at a distance with all our white noise?
There’s a great little book by the philosopher Max Picard on the subject: The World of Silence.

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Fire Keeper