Silence in the Mist

There are evenings when there is no wind.  Then, there are evenings that are perfectly still.  If you think about it a little bit, I believe you will know what I mean.  None of the birds make a noise.  No sounds of traffic or other human noise.  It's November, so there isn't much to be heard from insects or the various hibernating creatures on the farm.  It is so very quiet and still that the farmer is almost afraid to move for fear that he might break the spell that is being woven.

This perfectly still evening is very nearly perfectly silent except for the dull roar the stillness brings with it.  If you listen closely, you can hear hints of the immense presence of nature in the silence.  The rays of sunlight don't dance because they are tired.  After all, it is late in the day.  But, they have the power of the sun behind them which encourages them to seep into the clouds and turn them from a deep gray-purple to a complex coral red and orange that is impossible to describe, even if your audience is seeing exactly what you are seeing.

As if on cue, the mists begin to arise from the fields at the same time the sunset insinuates itself into the coming night sky.  The illusion that there is no motion is belied by the expansion of the fire in the sky and water vapor over the earth. 

A dog barks in the distance and the rays of sunlight begin to retreat.  It is tempting to say that the spell is broken, but it might be better to say that it is complete.