Friday, 16 April 2010

Silence Falls

There have been no planes flying the last 24 hours or so, due to the volcanic ash up there floating on by from Iceland. I can't say we've noticed anything visually, but it definitely seems quieter.... the sort of hush you get when there's heavy fog.

It reminded me of how much noise our modern world surrounds us with. A few years back in Africa we had a 3 day power out due to bad storms. For 3 days we had no electricity and no noise. No hum of the fridge, no whine of the computer fan... nothing. It was amazing how refreshing that quiet felt. Like opening a window onto the sea at dawn. And all the forgotten childhood noises were there - wind in the trees, birds singing and chirping, the hiss of water sprinklers in gardens...

As much as I missed my modern-life luxuries I missed the silence even more when the power returned. :-(


Connie said...

It must feel a little strange to have no planes go overhead.

Isn't it funny how we hear all those sounds of nature when we are children, but somehow when we grow to be adults we don't notice them as much. We're too busy to take the time to notice them I think. I can understand how much you would have enjoyed the silence when the power went out. I think I would have felt the same way.

Hayden said...

sounds like those three days were lovely -

Here I'm plagued by the hum of the fan from the heater, the refrigerator. The hum of my washing machine and the dehumidifier in the basement. Each seems necessary - and is, for the way I'm prepared to live right now - and each is profoundly, actively irritating. I welcome dawn these days with open windows: delighted with the cacophony of bird voices greeting the sun, I get up quickly so I can add my voice to the song of praise.

In the evening I wait for the hush following the extinction of light, and then the mad caroling of the frogs begins.

Soon the summer nights will be spangled with fire flies! There were none in SF and I missed them.

Living here I'm close: still I long to be closer. To find a way to erase the walls that shelter me and keep me warm and dry. An atavistic longing for the return.

Amel said...

I understand what you mean. That's why I love going to the cabin 'coz there's no electricity there. :-))) There's only silence, us, and nature. :-D

Michelle said...


That sounds so lovely. I envy you! :-)

Wow, that is a very beautiful reply. Worthy of being a blog post in itself.

I haven't seen fireflies since I was nine. The were (are) so wonderful.