Silence, nothing is happening and still nothing more. Air pulling in and leaving my chest is loud and then it is gone. Ears relax and catch a the first inkling of a tune. Burbles of the creek, the opening stanza. Silver flashes as fish surface amid the dancing dragonflies that have joined the stage. Their wings, green and purple oily swirls, swing as they pirouette.
Rustling leaves announce an otter sliding down the bank, flouncing into the still waters, sending cascading ripples across the expanse. Acrobatic insects put on an aerial delight, spinning in loops around each other. Still others stir among the trees, a doe pokes her head out to see what all the commotion is about. Even ancient timbers speak, groaning out the bass line.
Slowly a tear drips down smiling cheeks, the beauty, the peace, found by the edge of the creek. bravo! bravo! my silent adoration so as not to break the revelry.
Sabbath. A time to listen, reflect on voices not our own, if only we are silent long enough to hear.