A Quiet Season
It caught me by surprise. A late-January thunderstorm. We don’t get all that many ‘round these here parts about now.
It was a fast and furious affair. Lightning, thunder, rain smashing against windows. All in all, a most curious affair in a season noted for frigid cold and snow.
Though, in fact, there’s been little snow and hardly any frigid cold to speak of. This has been a dodgy season. One filled with day after day after day of damp and drear, dirt, fog and lethargy.
A quiet season.
It dawned on me, just a few days ago, that my days have been silent. There have been no organic sounds. Branches haven’t creaked, winds haven’t whistled. Songbirds fled south months ago.
There’s the sound of the furnace shoving air about. Not much more.
Silence has infused my marrow.
I drift as if a lotus-eater. Each day quieter than the day before. No words.
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