Sound of Silence

Today I took the road less traveled and discovered an old abandoned campground. The roads that once let to various camp sites had diminished to gravely paths covered in fir needles. Rain had fallen heavily earlier in the day and now the sun shone forth, its warm breath caressing the foliage and old growth trees that towered overhead. From a nearby boggy stream bed a steamy mist rose up into the newly warmed air. I leashed up my two eager dogs and we were off into the shadowy forest. I seemed to hear the echo of what had been as we passed derelict picnic tables in various stages of decay, the forest reclaiming what belonged to it. Then I heard it, the silence, reminiscent of standing in a cathedral where the sound of a pin dropping to the floor would seem sacrilegious. This place is holy I thought, and we walked on deeper still into the silence. An oddness seemed to seep into the air around me. Where is the bird song, I wondered. What had seemed so enticing, now in the silence seemed ominous. Where were we? The path seemed to be going in circles, I was pretty sure we had passed that fern covered stump before. The dogs were now lagging, their thirsty tongues hanging out. The silence thundered in my head. Was I growing fanciful? A feeling of unwelcome enveloped me. As we trudged up an incline the forest gave way and my Ford Explorer came into view. Feigning nonchalance, I loaded the compliant dogs into the car. As I turned around to peer into the dark depth of the forest, a crow landed on a nearby branch and proceeded to scold me for daring to disturb the sound of silence that once again reigned in the ancient forest.