Things Poetic

 Silence Nothing stirs, even the birds keep their counsel in that I can hear the background tinnitus  The crows call in the silence,  combines trundle across the fields seemingly eternal dust, choking but spreading seeds and goodness opening the ground to the birds Sunlight streams where it didn't Silence returns

 Silence silence, palpable,  physical, pushing into my every pore fine tendrils of cool air whisper around my fingers listen,  soft droplets of rain catch the window above, next to me pigeons call to each other on the roof,  chattering of squirrels on the bird feeder outside,  the disgust evident in their voices, each protecting their territory birds - tits, magpies, pigeons, doves,  starlings and crows all fight silently for the scraps but its a calm silence hardly broken by the artificial distant sounds of tractors on fields planted with beets, barley and wheat cut through but then the silence returns, only broken by the tap of the keys then that stops

 silence Its quiet this morning, no cars, nothing to break the stillness, the birds softly call to each other, seemingly unperturbed by the otherwise still morning Call and retort,  Call and amplify pigeons, robins, starlings, tits, rooks and insects vying for the silence to express Sitting, I experience this silence physically and emotionally and it isn't vying for space with the noise in my head where darkness swirls in a whirlpool of thought, experience, joy and pain I can feel it on my skin, this crisp quiet morning even the misty sunrise doesn't disturb it is embraces it