Wolfku Musing 46

The air was so still
I heard the trees exhale their
fine, fresh oxygen

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It is not often during my morning walks along the Pacific Ocean that there is no sound at all.

The seals, or sea lions, I don’t know which but hundreds of them, out on Castle Rock usually choire it to high heavens to be heard for miles; or the tide breaks most emphatically crushing the water into glee or protest, I don’t know which; or the gulls cry or the smaller birds twitter or chase me away with abusive bird language when I stray too close to their by-the-side-of-the-road nests; there always the occasional car—never too many, though, perhaps one every few minutes or so even during a weekday’s “rush hour” (there is no rush hour in my little town).

Never completely silent.

Then this morning—and of course I realize that this was my mind tricking itself—dead quiet: you could hear air molecules, enticed by gravity, hitting and bumping their heads on the tarmac. I could hear the sunlight strike the flowers in the field. I could hear the mist out there over the marsh sigh as it reached for the no-longer-visible Milky Way.

And I heard the trees breathe.

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