summer sounds or summer silence?

 

May the long light of the sun shine on us all this Summer Solstice day!  It's been a whole month since my last lame post--an unintended hiatus brought on by my first taste of the Sandwich Generation.

 

In the last four weeks, with one hand I juggled the usual teacher's end-of-year obligations (including a program for parents at which my kiddos explained, announced and sang nine songs both enthusiastically and beautifully--very gratifying for all the adults);  with the other I scheduled and propped and permitted and prepared and attended the projects, plays, trips, tryouts, presentations and promotions of my own children; and with the occasional free left foot or right hip, helped my parents (rather fit at 73 but under duress) sort and pack 28 years' worth of important stuff from their Baltimore house during a move that was achieved, between "Maybe we should put the house on the market" and "We're on the road with the moving van right behind us," in 5 weeks flat.

Meanwhile, my adult partner in all this was as helpful and supportive as possible given that she was logging hours and miles in preparation for a successful 545-mile AIDS Lifecycle from San Francisco to L.A. This left only my right big toe free to think about and write poetry--and since my right big toe is not a skilled typist, I didn't log a single poetic thought between May 24 and this Wednesday morning, when I prepared to catch up with three (count 'em, THREE!) poetry meetings in one day.  It is perhaps no surprise that what I found in my files to work on was a blank page with nothing but a title:  "Experiment in the Silence Lab."

It's not ready to share yet, so instead I offer you this rumination from Billy Collins.  The round-up today is with Carol at Carol's Corner.


Silence | Billy Collins

There is the sudden silence of the crowd

above a player not moving on the field,

and the silence of the orchid.

The silence of the falling vase

before it strikes the floor,

the silence of the belt when it is not striking the child.

The stillness of the cup and the water in it,

the silence of the moon

and the quiet of the day far from the roar of the sun.

The silence when I hold you to my chest,

the silence of the window above us,

and the silence when you rise and turn away.

And there is the silence of this morning

which I have broken with my pen...

Read the rest here, or listen to Billy read it.