At One With the Silence

I looked out of my window, the birds were feasting on my bread, and the Spring was in action. Little sound was in the air and the immediate world was one of calm and loving natuere. I looked at the repetition of my thoughts and wondered why. It seems that some things can never be left behind, that they have no past, or they dwell in a lengthy presence. I wonder what makes these 'some things' so different, so enduring and what makes them seem to possess a different quality of life. The gloves are off and I am at one with the silence.