Silence is Golden I’ve always liked silence, at least the silence of people. The increasing tendency toward noise all at times and all hours makes me feel distressed and I find a need, when confronted with it, to retreat to my home and my books. I don’t own a stereo nor a television. Not even a radio. I keep the sound turned off on my computer. It’s not that I don’t like music. I grew up in the era of the 60s music, and still have an affection for it if no longer a desire to listen to it. Now I prefer classical. My favorite is Mozart’s 40th symphony, Jupiter, as performed by Herbert von Karajan and the Berlin Philharmonic. It possesses me in a way no other musical work has ever done, and in a way that few books have done. It is, simply and undeniably, perfect. But even that is only an occasional treat. More often, I find myself reveling in the sound of the wind in the trees, the rain pattering or thundering down, the sound of a book’s pages being turned. While I spent some of my time this past holiday weekend working on BiblioBuffet and seeing friends, most it saw me engrossed in books. There’s a lovely tree in the front yard, and I spent at least part of each day lying on a blanket under it, several books spread out around me. And I listened to the words that made themselves felt in my brain and my soul while the wind ruffled the leaves above me. They were the sounds of silence. The ultimate gift. |