Listening for the significance

I’m sitting here alone. The noise is the wind and a cardboard box unfolding ever so slowly. I’m not playing any music. I’m alone with my thoughts. I’m alone listening. I have so many things to do, yet I sit here in my silence. The silence of doing nothing. The silence of sounds.

Outside, the wind is howling. I wonder how bad the roads are going to be on the ten mile drive home. I wonder. I dismiss it. I keep listening.

The sound of the mechanical pencil on the paper is an interesting sound. I like it. It reminds me of ice skaters when the blades make that similar kind of noise. It’s hard to describe. It’s beautiful.

Listening. The quieter it gets, the louder I hear things in my head. The thoughts. The ideas. The words. The pictures. I see and hear.

I keep listening. The furnace has kicked in and drowned out the silence. I want it to stop. It didn’t drown out the noise of the wind. It is still howling. I continue to listen.

Winter. The roads are icy and slippery. I dread the drive. It takes so much longer. I just want to be home. We still have to go to parent teacher conferences. The last parent teacher conference we will ever go to. She a senior. We are done.

The cardboard box is still making noise and the wind is still howling. I always wonder. I wonder about the significance of things and what they mean. When I slow down and listen, I begin to hear. I begin to feel. I find the significance.


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