Holly Kozelsky
The house should be silent, but it’s not.
Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock goes the grandfather clock.
Occasionally a gust of wind blows by outside.
A creaking sound comes from the easy chair as someone readjusts.
A soft shuffle comes from the turn of a page.
The silence, with its slight noises we normally do not notice, is lulling and embracing.
Love and companionship fill the room, as all sit and read.
We read for hours. Occasionally one gets up for a stretch, a glass of water, a cup of tea.
Some read traditional books. Some read on the Kindle or Nook.
This companionable reading can only come toward the end of the family visits. The beginnings are full of conversations, laughter, perhaps bickering and tears. They are full of plans and events and outings and errands and meals and preparations and clean-ups.
Only after all that has past and everything slows down do the good reading days come.
The silence transcends time. Noises and voices and shows and music proclaim their epoch, but the silence is timeless.
When we all read a book in the silence of the same room, it sounds exactly the same as it did decades ago, and it will years into the future, and so we are most like ourselves, unsullied and uninterrupted by the outside.
