Deepening Silence

It's the end of our cabin season now. We're packing everything up. The canoe is stowed safely away. All liquids are boxed and ready to go. We turned the potted geraniums and impatiens out in the woods, setting them upright in their own soil, hoping they'll last a few more weeks on their own.

While working outside, we notice the silence more this time of year. On cloudy days the chickadees are silent, and the migrating warblers give only the smallest, highest calls. The brown creepers are quiet too, hopping up the tree trunks looking for bugs. How different this silence is compared to when we arrive in spring, when birdsong fills the air. We catch a few loon calls, the kingfisher chatters on sunny days, and at night the barred owl calls out in the woods.

Most of the cabin owners have left, so there are no motorboats, and no conversations float across the lake. And once the snow falls, which can begin any day now, there will be weeks of deeper silence until the deer hunting starts. Then the snow mobilers and ice fishermen arrive.

But these sounds we will not hear. As we return to the city for the long winter, we'll keep the treasured silence in our hearts.