It was Sunday evening. I'd put off the assignment for my Monday afternoon writing group until the last minute. It had been a busy day and my mind was spinning. I threw some mellow music on Pandora and drew a hot bath. Mentioning the epsom salts sounds very senior citizen, but what the fuck. I have recived mail from AARP.
So I'm in the bath tub, winding down and have started contemplating the subtle things you hear at the end of the day . . . the sounds that emerge when the hustle and bustle has died down . . . when you can hear the white noise of the ocean, hidden all day by next door's construction equipment . . . when you can hear the song sparrows saying goodnight to the day . . . when you can hear the drips from the faucet falling into the water you are soaking in . . .
Then the music started to register and it was so compelling I hopped out of the tub and ran, towel wrapped and dripping, downstairs to learn the name of the song. It was a piece called 'Silent Hollow' by Robert Linton from his album "Whisperings at Nightfall". For real. You can't make this shit up.
Pull up the link, push play and read the poem. The only cool thing you need to know is that every 2nd line is transposed to become the next line. It was a challenging and fun puzzle. I'd like to thank Robert Linton, wherever he is, for the beautiful inspiration.
Whisperings at Nightfall
There are some things you
only hear
among the whisperings at
nightfall.
At nightfall I sit among
the whisperings
which ride beneath the
surface.
The surface rides beneath,
and mingles with, the
static of the ocean
Which is not a static
ocean at all -
carrying on, indifferent
to our awareness.
Carrying awareness
indifferently
among the whisperings at
nightfall.
