Song & Silence

You know, in a book I liked (I loved the first in the series, liked the one I'm talking about) by Suzette Haden Elgin, she has this thing about song being for humans like light is for plants-- a way to literally get energy-- food. I think in a much less literal way that's true. I love music-- love to listen to the radio cranked up with music from rap to Hank Williams sr. to classical. But sometimes, it's really important, I think, to turn the noise off. If it becomes noise, just turn it off rather than trying to find something that doesn't suck as much as the rest. This afternoon that's how I feel. I've turned off all the noise boxes in the house, and there are birds singing and dogs whining. I don't exactly love the dog whining, but it is important to realize, I guess, that there are somewhere creatures that are miserable in the lack of company, or food, or something. Quiet is good. I feel refreshed and strengthened by it.

On the drive home, there was another one of those nature moments that the Romantics loved-- awesome beauty. Overwhelming and so breathtaking that if it were a painting, you would think it was just too much. There was this really dark cloud, hanging very low on the horizon, but it was big-- just not the whole horizon. And over it was the sun, in as much glory as the setting autumn sky can grant. It was "squinty" bright-- hot white nuclear bright. But just under it, soaking up that nuclear whiteness was this dark cloud. It was a study in contrasts that made me think that we are often defined best by our opposite-- the light is only truly light when it is almost (but not quite) absent.

Now I've had a wonderful dinner & a good book and am about to go lie in the hammock while the light keeps and read with a glass of Merlot. Happy sigh.