After the luscious richness of summer, the glistening bleached-out days of lake swimming,
the cacophony of five children crammed into extended cab truck, eating ice cream and singing pop songs,
the regular appearance of nature’s very own Sound and Light show;
cicadas, crickets and every sort of frog found below the Mason-Dixon line,
all playing their tune,
the lightening bugs blinking on and off across the pasture, each a twirling world unto themselves,
after baths of calamine lotion to soothe the poison oak riddled legs,
trips up the mountain to the great-grandmother’s house and back again,
and the all the first are over – days and classes and years and games…
Only then, when the mornings are cooler and the hope of October is alive and well, can I hear the silence once again.
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