A Saturday night of edenic silence in the early dark of fall, the season’s first halting, feathery rain seeming to muffle every sound save for the second-by-second tick of the clock hand on the kitchen wall, reminding that this quietude, so reminiscent of the timeless heavens, is itself bound and must stake its own claim for whatever eternity it can muster. I can hear neither car nor cricket nor neighbor near or far; even the refrigerator is joined in the solemnity of this hour, its motor soundless and bowed. Dog to the left of me, cat to the right, our threesome forming an obtuse triangle punctuated only by the silent rising and falling of torsos, accepting without rancor the insistent, intrusive breath that moves the world. Amidst this still point suggesting the collapse of all time and bother, an email pings, bringing news that an old friend has passed, time and cause unknown, memorial upcoming, his motor, too, now soundless, bowed, and never to resume. Memories pour forth of his person, habits, peculiarities, passions, the life force that made him him against the vast nothingness into which he threw his being. Huddled here with my creaturely beloveds in the tender cocoon of night, I grieve another brother felled, calling his name and his face as the world carries on, unknowing.
Deep appreciation to the photographers! Unless otherwise stated, some rights reserved under Creative Commons licensing.
Elizabeth Haslam, whose photos (except for the books) grace the rotating banner at top of page.
Library books photo by Larry Rose, all rights reserved, contact: firstname.lastname@example.org
Dog and cat photos by Andrew Hidas https://flickr.com/photos/andrewhidas/