Morning broke here today. It was utterly unexpected and desperately desired. I didn't think it would ever be mine again.
Many would think silence is heavy and lonely but the world isn't silent, even miles from any other living human being. I loved living in the forested place we did, because of what I could hear right outside my window.
I loved camping for that same deep listening experience. Early in the morning, I would find a sunny spot and would sit and just listen to the forest waking up. Brian always asked what on earth I was doing all day and did I even leave the campsite. I was listening, I would explain. I would close my eyes and just listen to the wind through the tree tops, to the birds, to the small and insistent sounds of bees, to the chatter of squirrels, to those splendid occasions when I would hear the calf elk call for their mammas.
His connection to the world was active and sound was part of his active and mine was a more passive experience, but camping worked for both of us.
Since that awful summer when he died, my world has been filled with noise. I needed to turn on TV in every room I am in. I needed the sound even to sleep. TV and its chatter were my white noise, stemming conscious awareness of all the thoughts I just could not resolve that whirled in my head.
The last week or so, I caught myself sitting here in front of my computer, with no other white noise. I was surprised each time it happened, but it never really hit me how different that was.
Then this morning, I poured my coffee and sat down and started knitting. I didn't even think about adding tv.
It's one of those perfect mornings of late spring, where the world is quiet of human noise and the sun is shining. Its just bird call and soft breezes and I caught myself just sitting, hands stilled, completely immersed in the sounds.
It's been so long.
**In case you need a little boost without the busy of human noise,