(no subject)

Sometimes there is an aweful hush in the world. It cuts through the sunlight and the Spring winds and it finds where you are. It isn't even dark; it is just the quiet, and all the cars and everything that moves is covered by it. It is as much part of all this as the sky.
It concentrates the seconds, the time, the mind. It focuses around the click of a pocket watch opening, a sound that becomes the sound of every world until the world fades, and it waits for silence to resume. And all the chatter of the people and cities, they die away. The road you are on may have cars on it again, or maybe not. And the wind rises and tells you, no. The hush is very little.

This is true, but it will come back.

There comes a time when the roads and the planes are quiet, and you feel that you could go out into the universe and hear the creaking of planets, the strange music of magnetism and all the forces that move, everything that moves makes some sound. And you do snap back, under the sun where all the riot is, and even daisies sound like some kind of far off party.

There is a magic in sound and non-sound. Directly after I hear it, I'm as cold as ice, even on a sunny day. But that's not a bad thing.

This is not an experiment in prose. It is something I experience.