True silence – so quiet you can hear the world, and yourself. It happened again yesterday as I was sailing, ghosting really, north along the Pungo River. The Evening Light moves gracefully on wind that you can barely feel, not making a sound. Wings hard slapping on water as a duck takes to the air is a cannon shot. Someone a mile or more away is working a chainsaw, and I use the term working very lightly here, it buzzes every few minutes, a giant insect, deep in the forest on the far side of the river.
The wind whispers to the boat, and the boat speaks through the wheel, point up, a little more, now down, follow that puff, there you go. An hour or so of this and even your thoughts go quiet and just drink in the world around you. The desert mirage like mirroring of trees, distant floating above their reflection with imagined sky between. The dome of the sky, white becoming blue, over head. The whisper of wind over feathers, osprey soaring somewhere under the blue. Even the fish are silent.
In the end even this gentle wind fades and we have to start the motor, have to get to modern communications and deal with “real” world issues … fixing said motor. And the soul remembers the quiet, the true silence.