Weekly Writing Challenge: The Sound of Silence
The smell of wood from the inside comes to exist on my fur. The leaves, too. And branches. I’ve nothing to do today, nor tomorrow, nor any of the days that follow for as far as two moons can see. I’ve fared well this winter thus far. The gathering season had less competition than normal. But none of that matters today. There are others huddled and hunkered down beside me, but there is no exchange between us other than if we, by chance, lift our eyelids at the same time each others’ way. In the fall, we played our games- chasing each other up trunks, hiding in the earthly gradient leaves. In the summer, this park, it wasn’t mostly barren of noise like it is now. There was children’s laughter and carrying on, the howling of house pets that were, for the time being, free to echo through the uninhibited atmosphere. It’s all so loud in my imagination. The tenderness of the memories are like a dream. The recollection of those dog day storms jerks me in my trance. But it is all an illusion. The only voices are the mumbles of the snowflakes falling into their niche. The air is so cold, so still, that they have little hope of migrating. I suppose they don’t much mind, however. There’s so many of them that they can’t feel alone. The winter isn’t much of a creator. The silence of it leaves things unfinished, right where they are, no matter if they’re close to being done or not. Like the buck. He wasn’t quite finished, nor prepared, for the long chill, but the season of silence waits for no one. This hibernation- in the tree that is rooted, quite silently, next to the pond that has turned so sheer and icy that the image of the prospector is absorbed, like a mirror- is a time for reflection. Even in a dream, when my eyelids tire and the slumber comes full force, leaving the world in the hands of the unconscious, I reflect. And I’ve got two more moons, not that I’m in a hurry, to reflect. In silence.