I’ve tried to write to the sound of music, but it doesn’t usually work well for me. I create better in silence, although there really isn’t such a thing. I know this because when I’m silent I hear stuff.
- the pit-pit-pit-pitta-pit-pit-pit of ice melting from the eaves
- the song of the chicka-dee-dee-dee-dee-dee
- the distant whoosh of traffic like wind through trees across a mountain peak
- the rumble of a tractor pulling a load of firewood
- the nearby CAW-CAW
- the creak-creak of the vinyl-covered porch ceiling
- the slurp of steaming tea
- a rooster’s crow
- the flutter of birds’ wings as they come and go from the feeders
- the hum of the fridge and the whir of the wood stove fan
Silence snags all my senses.
I feel the thumps of my heart, smell the wood smoke, see the way the light dances on snow peppered with sunflower seed hulls. Even the honey on my sourdough muffin tastes sweeter.
Silence makes you attentive to the tiniest sound underfoot, helps you hear the pulse of your heart . . . If God were to show up and speak, like he did to Elijah after the wind died down and the silence ensued, you might have a chance to hear God’s voice. Unfortunately, we’re culturally primed to avoid silence. ~L.L. Barkat in God in the Yard, p. 82-83
Listen to the sounds of morning silence using all five senses, L.L. suggests. Then write down what you hear and put it together into a simple poem. Don’t worry about form or meaning.
So I gave it a try with what heard.
Breakfast is Served
The sun spreads itself golden
on a white table
flutter, flop, chirp, nod
melodies in surround sound
breath mingles with steam of tea
the gang’s all here
and breakfast is served
on a sunflower morning.
God murmurs in the silence of unexpected places. Poetry can be one of those places. ~L.L. Barkat
What do you hear in the silence?
In the stillness,