“I saw old Autumn in the misty morn

Stand shadowless like silence, listening

To silence…”

– Thomas Hood

There is a curious phenomenon that occurs only on rare occasions when Nature adds just the right blend of ingredients to her cauldron and conjures silence on a misty morning in Fall.  On one such morning, I found myself drawn away from the paved roads of town and down a muddy path that led into the woods.  The mud soon gave way to a carpet of fallen leaves, smooth and silent, perfectly laid by the rain of night, so that no small edge could catch my foot and whisper the sound of the autumn leaf that rustles as it clears the path for any who might intrude.  I tilt my head downward and watch my feet as they make their way along the disappearing trail, because I need the confirmation that they actually are touching the ground.  Maybe I am walking on a cushion of air that offers no audible confirmation to my presence.

My mind wanders to memories of swimming underwater as a child and imagining how wonderful it would be if I could magically breathe there and spend as much time as I liked in that muted place, removed from the noise and distraction of earthbound existence.  As much as I like the celebratory sounds of living, as much as I like being carried away to soaring heights by the sound of beautiful music, as much as I love the sounds of the beating drums that draw me into community and cause the rhythm of my heart to join with others in a sort of oneness that binds us all as fellow travelers, still I am one who seeks silence.  The shared sounds of life draw me in and remind me that I have a place in the great design as a part of all that is created.  The times spent in silence call me to journey to a holy place where I understand that, as part of Creation, I also carry a part of the Creator who breathed me into existence.

As the woods close around me, I realize that not a bird is calling.  Not a breeze disturbs the trees above or the brush below.  Not a ray of sunlight dances through the air.  Daylight, like sound, is muted by the cottony clouds that hang so low they can touch the ground.  I am caught in a place that is frozen and timeless, as though the One who gives it life has taken a deep breath and now holds it in.  In that world between breaths, I could swear that my own heart has stopped for a moment that lingers in timelessness.  My own breathing, silenced, is not necessary in the space in between the Breaths of life.  How long have I stood here?  I can’t really say for certain.  Perhaps for a second, perhaps an eternity, wrapped in the Silence, I too become Silence.  I want to remain in this place, to linger in the holiness before the next breath.  I sense that the holiness always is with me and carried inside me, although I don’t see it; but being inside it is such a sweet thing that I know I could stay here forever.

The cloud lifts.  The mist rises.  A single ray of sunlight penetrates the treetops.  A breeze kisses my face as the birds begin to sing their praises of the morning.  Once again, the world is re-created, and so am I.  My heart beats with anticipation of what this new gift of creation will bring.  I exhale in the cool morning air and see my breath hang in front of me.  The sounds of the birds is joined by my own laughter as I kick my foot and send a dozen yellow leaves flying ahead of me.  The path reappears, and I listen to my own footsteps as they lead me on to a brand new day.