The Silence: 220

I stared at the sky. The first drops of a winter rain were falling lightly, through a world of wafting fog. The field was like something out of a storybook, clothed in a light white cloud, and empty, but for me. Its winding paths of grass curved and wound like a maze, and I breathed in the silence, the peace. It was beautiful. The only sounds were those of my feet as they melted into the grass, crisp with frost. In the distance the glow of the early morning street lights shone through the fog. A flash of red burst through the cloud, as a hummingbird’s brilliantly colored coat dove past me. His shrill voice called out and I answered him with a whistle. Then the sound faded and the stillness made me breathless. I felt as if I was completely alone in the whole vastness of the world. The quiet was heavy, settling down upon me, heavier than the thickest fog. I knelt down, uncaring of the dampness that sank through my jeans. Nothing like that mattered. All that mattered was being a part of that world, that quiet, that beauty. My hair tickled the back of my neck. I waited.

I waited for the sound that would never come. Then thunder rumbled. And the rain came crashing down.