The Quiet

So far one of the most interesting thing about this project has been 
the choices I've made regarding the work I put out there. Truthfully,
these are not my favorite pieces of work or my most treasured. Perhaps,
I'm starting on the simple side of things and warming to the more 
complex, the more personal. Many of these pieces were just forgotten
somewhere. It's been nice though to reconnect with them. Having lived
all over, certain pieces stick out because I can remember the place 
they were written. Some pieces, it's just the where I wrote it, that I
remember. Others, are much less or more vivid in what I recollect.
The piece I am sharing this morning, I found and it immediately took
me back. I actually remember where I was sitting when I wrote it.
I was living in Charleston. I had separated from the group I was with.
I stumbled into this tiny park. It was so beautiful, with it's little 
fountain. It was spring, and I was just in awe of how peaceful
and quiet this place was. I scribbled the words in a sketch pad
and then I just sat there in this quiet little park for what felt like
hours, enjoying all that quiet does for us.


The Quiet

 What's quiet doesn't know it.
 The trickle of water from a fountain in a park at night-
 The shadows of birch and palmetto.
 Blue False Indigo has no idea it is southern.
 The leaves here don't know it's fall or what that means
 To the lives of the people they shade. 
 The red light at the abandoned intersection seems oblivious
 To what it is waiting for.
 Tree limbs grow up in every direction.
 Houses have forgotten revolutions and evolutions
 That were born and died in the womb of their walls.
 History is it's own concealed weapon that never knew
 It was supposed to have a permit to carry the lethality of all that it does.
 This night has no idea that somewhere, someone grabs an apple.
 The first bite doesn't know the second.
 The stoplight continues red, yellow, green,
 Unaware of  the rustiness of the wire holding it.
 Unaware of how lonely a three AM intersection is.
 The night continues forward
 Seemingly without direction. 
 Here it’s so obvious
 Quiet has no idea of how powerful it is.