The return of silence

Life is noisy and chaotic, a cacophony comprised of layer upon layer of modern and ancient sound alike. Having lived in large cities for much of the past decade, I had at once developed the ability to filter out certain ever-present noises and yet also become acutely aware of others.

Tucked twenty-three stories above the world in Toronto, one might have thought that we'd be free of most of the sounds of the urban jungle, affected only by the tinkerings, comings and goings, and parties of our neighbours, but such was not the case at all. Perched directly above the busiest highway in all of Canada (the 401), our cement tower could scarcely block out a dog's bark at ground level, let alone the incessant stream of harried traffic that hurried past every moment of the day.

There are many elements of city life that I love, but noise pollution is not one of them. Even in other metropolises I'd called home over the years, none had come close to being as clogged with constant sound (at least on my respective streets) as our home in Toronto was. Some days you might find that you barely noticed the honks, tire squeals, whoosh of vehicles, and loud pedestrians, on others - especially if your nerves were frayed or you were ill - you'd find that every last pin drop seemed to be magnified tenfold.

In this deafening environment I yearned for a great sense of peace, for air that was still and sweet, placid and busied only by the rustle of the breeze through a leafy branch. It was with no small amount of joy then that I embraced and relished the fact that our new home is located on a street so hushed, especially at night, that at times it feels as though the whole neighbourhood has taken a vow of silence.

 

{Precisely the sort of uninterrupted, grandly wonderful quietude I missed intensely for many years before returning to the Okanagan Valley earlier this year. “Winter Sunrise, Sierra Nevada, from Lone Pine, California, 1944” by Ansel Adams.}

 

This quaint street (which, having coincidentally lived on it many years ago, I already knew was sublimely serene) has but one lane of traffic coming and going in each direction. It winds it way a tad past our home and continues onto a small retirement community and a golf course, two of the most tranquil places one could ever hope to have as their neighbours.

As the evening grows later and the heady, passionately lovely scent of honeysuckle wafts through the air, I find myself almost moved to tears as I venture outdoors and am embraced by calmness.

A few cars still mosey about, somewhere in the distance a sprinkle plays its tell tale "tis-tis-tis" melody, and the little creek right across the street babbles gently. A black and white cat tiptoes across the grey pavement still enticingly warm from the afternoon sun, and a child scurries past in the blink of an eye on their bicycle, but that is it, and as the night grows older, the quietness that permeates this lovely parcel of the town will only intensify.

There are many blessings in life, but I've come to realize over the years that few are as powerful, captivating, and thoroughly important as being granted (even if only once in a while) the gift of silence all around you.

Alone with my thoughts, the early summer heat, and the creek's exquisite lullaby, I am filled with the sort of joy that stems straight from the soul and which can only be matched by the immeasurable beauty of this renewed discovery of serenity itself.