Silence

I fail at describing my emotions while hiking at East Reservoir. There is something incredible, profound, and tangible about true silence. As I fought my way through the snow, up the ridge, I would pause. When the drumming of blood from my exertion subsided in my ears, I was left alone to the wilds that surrounded me. And there was nothing. No planes, no trains, no automobiles. Not even the rustling of leaves or the braying of sheep. There was me. And I was in nature.

The stillness of silence has a veritable weight to it. It is not as if the lack of noise leaves a void. The idea of emptiness is the antithesis of what I experienced. No, the silence was tangible. It was like a blanket wrapped over the ranges of mountains surrounding me, warming me, pulling me close. So close I could feel the earth breathing. The earth, nature, was bare. There were none of the usual separations between us. Its flesh was my flesh.

And then came to my ears the sigh of the trees. They whispered of the approaching wind. The sound was sensational in its delicacy. It was subtle and disturbed nothing of the stillness enveloping me. I’m not sure the sigh was audible; I use the term sensation for that is more accurate. Then, down in the valley their sigh grew solid; still gentle, but now audible. Quickly it grew. It was no longer the trees sighing of the coming wind, but was indeed the first fingers of the wind arriving through the branches. And instantly the roar tore over me. The force was awesome: the wind batted my clothing and pushed hard against me. It bit at my face; its cold nipped at my ears; there was so much energy in the wind..

And suddenly it faded back to the absolute silence without even the rustling of a leaf to serve as a reminder of its fury. Just the calm and peace again as I hiked on my way.