The wind blows through the trees from one end of hearing to the other. As suddenly as it blew, the wind abates, and a palpable silence emerges, as if always there but concealed among the treetops. I want to take the silence like a jewel, place it on my forehead, let its glow suffuse my mind. I want to hold the silence like a bird, delicate, in the palm of my hand, but it eludes my grasping. It wants to be free, to fly as it will, and I am loathe to restrain it. In the darkness, the wind picks up again. Far away a dog is baying. I wait for a bird-cry but there is none. The night is moonless, but I can see my empty hands. Silence folds and unfolds as it will.