It had been quiet since the day of the Feast, thought the visitor, before correcting himself.
True, the last several days had brought a silence that some would find disturbing, but for the visitor, himself a stoic and humourless fellow rarely given to outbursts of any nature, it was still too loud. With typically unsmiling resolve, he set upon himself the task of quieting the din generated by the settling dust.
"Quiet", he croaked at nothing.
The only response was his own surprise. How vulgar and intrusive this utterance seemed!
Had the visitor possessed the characteristic laughter of those persons whose company he once shunned, he would have smiled at being taken aback by such a small thing as a word.
Had he even the slightest insight within his self, he would know that it was they who shunned him, and not the reverse, despite his habit of lamenting the unworthiness of absent companions.
Instead, he decided that never again would a word pass forth from his lips.
The wind, gentle and uncaring, declined to sigh.
2 comments:
the wind is never any help and when she does answer its always in riddles
"Fools," said I, "you do not know
Silence like a cancer grows.
Hear my words that I might teach you.
Take my arms that I might reach you."
But my words, like silent raindrops fell
And echoed in the wells
of silence.
~Simon and Garfunkel
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