Silence

This is the seventh of seven poems in a series.

Silence

Nothing is quieter than the Abbey Church
in the middle of the day when all the monks
are at work. Nothing is quieter and more still,
even when the footsteps of a passing monk
echo off the stone walls, and
the lawn mower is heard outside in the distance.

Nothing is quieter than the meditation hall,
even though full of lotus squatting bodies....I hear
the breathing of the bloke beside me.
And the city bus screeches to a halt
at the bus stop outside the window.

Nothing is quieter than this room at 3:00 AM,
even though the dog snores and
the fire crackles and pops in
the fireplace beside me, and
I hear the tires of a car on
the rain soaked pavement outside.

Nothing is quieter than these woods.
An airplane flies over, and I look up.
And then back to my footsteps on the trail,
and the crunching of leaves and twigs
Under my feet. And the wind in the branches,
and the chipmunk squeaking on the log
as I pass by.

Nothing is quieter than the lake at dawn
when the mist rises....
Even though the mourning doves coo
and the woodpecker makes his racket,
and my companion is still snoring in the tent.

Nothing is quieter than silently holding in my arms...
and stroking the hair of my wife...or my daughter....
Nothing is quieter in my heart than this.

Its all silence

Silent night, holy night.