The Texture of Silence

Often I have found that more can be said through silence than the most eloquent words.  It can be filled with sharp, fractured edges, or smooth, calm serenity.  It can be pregnant with both expectation and anxiety.  There is the awkward silence of a date once you realize things are *not* going well, or the comfortable silence of an old friend.

So I have always had a particular appreciation for the expressive silences of life.  But one kind of silence in particular has always been especially important to me.  It is the holy silence of sacred places when you feel worlds touching and overlapping.  As I've traveled about this world, I've discovered that such place often take me by surprise.  Like this one:

Yesterday was so full of turmoil that I felt a need to feel the earth beneath my feet this morning.  Luckily, there are plenty of random country roads to wander along here.  As we were meadering around on our nature walk, Lily and I stumbled across this quaint little abandoned ranch.  As we crossed the bridge to explore, I felt such remarkable peace.  It rippled through me, the silence filled with it, until I knew that everything was going to turn out as it should.  I am thankful for such silences in my life.  They always seem to come when I need them most.