The rest is silence
2008 12 16
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I was walking home from my grandmother's earlier this evening, and it was peculiarly quiet out.
Despite the cold it was too early to be so silent. It was almost Stephen King-like in its creepiness. There was cold and wind, no people, no cars, and nothing besides the rustles of leaves but creaking signs and gates. I'd have been hard-pressed to imagine any life but my own was stirring.
I don't even think the boogeyman was around.
At work, during a particularly busy time, the silence of a lull is precious. Some people like to fill these lulls in life with useless chatter, but I like it. I like the rest of not having to digest anything at all. It beats all why some folks seem so resistant to peace and quiet.