There’s a thing that sometimes happens when you’re standing in the forest – your feet firmly planted on the leaves and pine needles that fall to the ground. Silence. There are times when I’m on a trail that I don’t even hear a bird make a peep. If the breeze or wind is non-existent there’s no rush of wind through the pines (one of my favorite sounds ever). It’s just silence. This is a comforting silence. It’s even more comforting in the high heat of summer when the sun and humidity bake the pines. The intoxicating scent of pine and the silence of a still day in the woods, are a gift.

Silence, outside of this and a few other instances, is not my friend, however. Silence gives me one impression. I can draw no other conclusions. I – the lover of words and the woman who lives for them – need words spoken or written. I literally need them. Without them, I get lost along the way and have trouble keeping my head in the game.

I’m having trouble finding my way. The silence is deafening. I can only draw one conclusion – and it’s breaking my heart. In the silence, I’ve discerned my value to you. And though it’s killing me, I have to walk away.

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