No more peals of school. Only a minor din of work. A forgetful heart, forgetting those to whom I am forgotten.
Silence creeps upon me, a moss taking each limb in its time, dressing me in its blackened sound. Uneasy. I am uneasy and yet welcoming of the nothing-pitch. I have waited, and still wait, until it has me fully in its maw, then amazing things begin to appear, begin to resound about in the nothingness.
Already, I have seen and heard wondrous things. A Red-bellied Woodpecker and Downy Woodpecker have both brought their juvenile chicks to my suet block, tearing pieces from it and feeding them below on a deck railing. I have never seen anything of the sort in my many years of living here.
A local doe has also given birth to two fawns, no larger than small greyhounds. They come to my bird feeder with their mother. Still too young to eat the seed she spills from the bird feeder, they go frolicking about on their new legs, realizing with each leap their growing abilities.
Such things are rarely seen in the rage and din of life. My phone is silent. My mind and heart, empty, ready to devour everything set before them. I live for this silence, for the forgetting of the world while knowing it all the more.