At my house in the city, cars rush by, sirens blare, doors slam, a man calls for his dog. Up here on the mountain you can drink silence.

I wake to sunlight falling to my quiet room. I sit very still, silence pulsating in my brain. Creation whispers: maple limbs knock in the breeze, bird wings flutter, streams murmur. I can almost hear the whorled roar of the planets, and the explosions of stars. I had forgotten that I was a dancer in the great Milky Way frolic.