Silence

Isn't it strange how the sound of rain doesn't interrupt silence?

Sixty millimeters of rain fell one night recently - in torrents on a seemingly oceanic scale. The house shuddered like a kayak under a cataract. It was a cathartic immense passion of water emptying heaven of its pent-up tears.

And yet. This huge elemental thundering had no effect on my own silence, tranquility, isolation. I slept in peace, woke in calm awe, slept again unconcerned.

Silence is more than the absence of sound. There is often sound in my silence. I've learned how to create silence amid the clamour, and a joyous calm from cold silence

After all the talk...

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....enjoy the silence


This moment of silence is brought to you by one very tired and time-disoriented woman, and a nice little laptop. Thankyou for your support.

Chatter, natter, gossip, burble, talk

On Day 3 of my New Entrants' class, Sister Mary Loyola* put a clothes peg on my tongue, bet you can guess why.

It didn't work.

Talking must be the childhood skillset I have exploited most - it's right up there in daily practice with eating and toilet training.  I can't resist a natter, excepting only on that cursed contraption the telephone.

It's not for lack of mathematical ability that I can't count the times I've wished I'd kept my mouth shut. Often immediately after some stupid/hurtful/indiscreet/inaccurate blabber escaped. On a couple of wincingly notable occasions, it's been a combination of all four. Humiliation high score!

Anyway, all that wishing is slowly taking effect. Conversations are actually more fun when you let the other guys have a turn, I have found. Amazing! Listening means you learn stuff. And of course there is the reduced potential for making those dumb comments.

I've long since forgiven Sister Mary Loyola for the peg incident.  After all, it's a great story, and she did gift me with perfect apostrophe control. Of which more later.


*Did anyone read my first school teacher's name as Sister Mary Loquacious? Ironic, innit?