silence is

Funny how little things that people say to us when we are little stick with us, become just a part of our being. My Grandmother had all sorts of ways to get her grandchildren to sit still by using phrases and activities that we thought were games. Silence is golden was one of them. Whenever she said it, we’d press a finger to our lips and shush ourselves into quietdom until, now that I’m wiser, she had finished her break from our chattering busyness. I truly never wondered where she got that from until I stood before a tree of brownish yellow leaves, sunlight rendering them almost transparent and waited until the slight breeze paused long enough for me to capture their more golden tones. It was mid-afternoon on that corner, one I’ve driven past countless times, just cool enough for a few layers of clothing, warm enough to take one or two off. Cars were not pressed to move through the intersection so they lingered behind the stop sign, their drivers wearing leisure much like mine; no need to hurry on such a spectacular day. There was plenty of time to appreciate fully the glow, each vein, overlays, ruffled edges, if one detached and fell or flew. I thought about that game of sitting still that I was much too young to fully appreciate or really understand until I stood in the golden silence of a tree dressed for autumn showing off in the sunny spotlight and was glad I had parked and walked to where I had been.

The origin of the phrase, which I am sure countless others have said for decades, really doesn’t matter. What does is taking in the richness when you stop the noise and…

keep your peepers open!®