Walking in Silence

I really enjoy the conversations we have on the way to school, on the way to the bus stop, on the way to anywhere. Unlike a lot of other times, talking while we walk is when I can be most present. Distractions are held at bay and I can more attend to listening. Sometimes though, I'd really rather not talk at all. It's funny, but often times the kids cease talking too, especially these days, shrouded as we are by winter wear and scrunchy rain hoods blocking sound, obstructing the easy flow of back and forth banter. We are hushed by the expanse of the sky, the swoosh of the passing buses, the rotting snowbanks being broken up by mud and growth.

While we walk there is no radio or t.v. droning out our thoughts. We can turn within. Some days our attention is very much turned outward by crusty icy bits or unusual sticks or new developments along the route.

Nothing is blinking or demanding handheld attention.

Speaking involves repeating ourselves too many times.

Silence prevails--until it is interrupted by the discovery of an abandoned but still glowing glow stick or until something occurs to us that is too good to hold onto. Silence trumps chatter while the rain drips down from the trees onto our noses, while the saturated snowflakes silently blanket us all around and the as the sparrows chirp happily awake.

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