A Place for Silence
June beckons like the first iris pushing up from the ground, like the sheen on the newly lush leaves after spring rain. Life continues its push and pull, the traffic, queues at the bank and the market, a hush in the bright evenings that seem to be endless. Last week a barred owl perched on a post in our front yard. He lingered for about twenty minutes, ruffling his feathers with that curiously hooked beak. I was close enough to see the speckled brown of his body, the mask-like white circles around his huge eyes. Every task forgotten, I watched him scan the trees and ground for prey, move to a higher branch when he sensed a presence. Sometimes time churns to a halt and it is possible just to observe the world around us. Storms, tragedies, and sickness slow us down. We make a place for silence like poets make a place for white space in a poem or musicians understand that pauses matter as much as the melody. When I return to Ireland, I will take the time to see what has changed in my absence. Which plants do I remember? What roads invite me to walk, even under thickening clouds? How will I stretch the time with dear friends? Will writing become my bridge between the quickening world and the silence of thought? What I’ve learned is this: be keen in your quest to find something new each day–a conversation, a handful of fresh berries, the triangle of blue in a sky of gray.
Literary Imaginings by Lisa C. Taylor 
Hope you’re finding plenty of berries, and even some blue sky, to keep you full in Ireland.