The fallen juniper still needed its last limbs cut up and a sunny Friday afternoon with early departure from the office provided just the right opportunity. The snow had disappeared except for those two tiny spots of white near the driveway that always melt last. Yet it was still cold and wintery and what was early for the office was late for beginning an outdoor task. It didn’t take long and the sun’s last few rays bathed the shed in orange glow masquerading as warmth.
The crows with their persistent ruckus high up in the bare tulip poplars in Ms Smith’s yard fell suddenly silent and stole away. One by one the other birds also lost their voice except one that kept meakly going as if doubting itself. A dog’s bark in a nearby garden, the faint rumbling of an airplane drawing lines across the sky and the steady hum of I-70 were the only sounds in the big silence which sets in when the sun goes down. Here out in the burbs and away from rush hour and city streets where the wired and electrified world proudly marches on 24/7 without missing a beat, dusk still brings on this stillness. With it comes a desire for man and beast alike to look for shelter. Find a warm place, a friend, a shoulder against which to lean and let the thoughts drift like the bunched up wavy clouds against the blue to orange western sky closing out the day.
It’s just this one day which draws the curtain and yet, listening carefully I can hear the cycle of life in the peace that is setting in.
