Friday, November 02, 2007
So quiet it's eerie
So this morning, when I got up and headed out the door, earlier than God, on my way to work, in the frosty cold pitch-blackness that is the Midwest before the sun comes up (I could see my breath, people), I was struck by how very quiet it was on my street at that moment. It's not a particularly busy street at the best of times, but there are always dogs barking and TVs blaring and cars on the next road over and the general white noise of the neighborhood.
But not this morning. As I stood there, keys in hand, ready to open my car door, I stopped and listened for a minute. And I heard (I'm not even shitting you here) the sound of leaves falling. It was so quiet and still that I could actually hear the leaves detaching themselves from the trees and rustling slowly to the ground. I stood and watched a few in the streetlight. One landed on the neighbor's car. Another drifted out into the street. I'm sure it's been ground into dust by now under the weight of a thousand tires. But for just a moment this morning, I stood and listened as it died and drifted away.