Sagas, Scenic, Weekend

In silence.

In the midst of crowded, cramped and busy places, where shouting, yelling, crying laughing comes and goes to replace itself each instant, I know what it is I seek and crave and know to be what should be.

It is always there deep in the background, to be embraced by body and soul, to be loved for every instant that it’s there and sought when not remembered fondly by those who known it if only for a while.

So sweet it is, that perfect silence. That sound devoid of talking, screaming, whispers of rumor or scandal. That sound of wind alone and in the trees, that sound of cracking fire softly roaring. That of thunder clapping and echoing throughout the heavy rains, that is the perfect silence.

Where one can travel the sounds of being without distraction, without hinder, without that noise so vile that is the busy hurried spurious life of subservience to coin and unseen masters.

That perfect silence is that of a freedom which others might steal, to know themselves and distract others who would seek it. To imprison in drudgery those who would otherwise see the truth and be themselves free to the wonders which surround them.

All such wonders hidden in plain sight. And such perfect silence which would fall to be heard by those who understand how to hear it.

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