Quiet Noise

It's a quiet night on the ridge. Only one dog barking, two whippoorwills calling. My rooster crows uncertainly because it's dark and he knows he should be sleeping but the dog woke him up and because he's awake he must crow--it's what roosters are supposed to do, or so he must believe.

A small soft wind blowing from the east means rain on the way. It ruffles th windchimes and carries belltones across the ridge to echo against the hills.

In the bedroom my husband shifts in bed, grumbling in his sleep as he pulls the blankets up against the cool night air. A frog croaks down by the creek, but only once.

It's a quiet night on the ridge.

Porch-Sitting

Porch-Sitting

The sun drifts low behind the ridge
gilding the trees with last rays as
dusk rises from the grayed hollow
and the whippoorwill begins
his evening call to love

We, tired and aching
from stressful jobs and
evening garden toils,
sit quiet, washed in golden light
that pays the toll of the day

Just Be Silent

Just Be Silent

“Just be silent,”
the child’s voice whispered
on my answering machine

I obeyed,
stood listening, still
to the quiet.

Just be silent.

I waited for a long time,
no more words came.
I softly hung up the phone
and listened to the silence--

just be silent

just be

listen

silent

Susanna Holstein c 1.31.05