I am fond of silence and silence is fond of me.
On snowy winter mornings when I write silence clears my worried mind and soothes my restless heart and calms my disposition. Silence is then stilly bliss.
On torrid afternoons in summer when I espy through the window shirtless men and girls in shorts bantering, the silence in the room roars and makes clamorous noise, as if incensed by the heat, and I close the window and draw the curtains and sigh.
On quiet weekend nights when I lie in bed unable to fall asleep silence makes the loneliness in the room echo. I roll about on the mattress until I discover that one side of the double bed is much colder than the other. I hug my pillow and weep.
Oh silence, inconstant companion!
Soothing in the morning, noisy in the afternoon, troubling in the dark…
What am I to do with you?PS: Once Oliver Colors’ biography is well written, this hatted boy shall gladly exchange silence for an inky-haired woman. But until then…