The Sounds of Silence

Every fifteen seconds or so, when there's no traffic going by -- none close by at all, it's as though the city streets are suspended.

All except for that constant loud and protrubing noise that seems to ever peirce my eardrums.

Some people who live in the city all their lives will never understand what the sound of silence is truly like.

Because in this city, this cities silence anyhow, there is never honest silence.





The sound of silence that I can best describe is a yearly, but also seasonally seasoned occurance back home.

Spring.
You will be greeted with the quiet rustlings of the newly forming leave buds. Beyond that? There is nothing. Only silence.

Summer. 
You will find yourself lying on your back with the window wide open, the occasional muskeeto that managed to break through your screen window buzzing off in the corner of your room. The sound of frogs chirping in the near-yet-distant ponds outside of your house are accompanied with the purest sound of silence.

Fall.
You will find yourself reminiscing over spring, yet also find that the rustling has become more bold, as the brilliant and vivid reds and yellows and oranges and greens scamper along the ground, together blending in a magnificent symphony of sweet lullabies. The only other sound to be heard, is silence.

Winter.
This time of year, you will be mainly met with the most bold silence you've ever dared to encounter. Aside from the silence, the occasional cracking of branches may be heard, as the weight of the snow pressures the limbs of the once beautifully decorated maple to become fragile and snap.

Oh silence.
In this city, what could come close to comparing with your soft hushes of sleep?
I shall sleep sound again when I enter your North-most boundaries.