Quiet

Walking in the winter exposes me to cold, yes, but also to a stillness in the natural world that becomes apparent as I pay attention. I have spent so much of my life focused on doing, only sometimes noticing the real world. But when I walk in the winter, I am overcome by the quiet. The ducks and geese have left the pond, now frozen. When the wind is still, there are only the sounds of distant roadways and the occasional work crew driving by.

The magic of silence is that there can be so much going on – and the quiet gives us the space and the permission to notice it, to attend to it. The pond’s ice exhibits striking patterns caused by who knows what. And a stray branch, likely blown onto the frozen water, sits mute, pretending to be sculpture.

Oh, the quiet time, the dark time: it can be an inviting exploration of the world of silence. And yet, this year I frighten myself with shadowy thoughts and half-seen monsters. November’s struggle returns in January – did it ever really disappear? I don’t want to (I won’t!) fall into that shadowy terrain. So I invite myself to remember grace and comfort and the coming spring and the beauty of stillness. And the quiet enters within.