For Marlene Rye’s Tornado show of pastels....
There is a particular Hush among Trees. A thrum of Silence. And empty Sound. Filled with nothing, True. This unbroken quiet remains whole while pierced. Crack! Crunches and slithers. A caw. A cry. Undisturbed by these disturbings. We think of peace as a life without conflict. We think of quiet as a time without sound. Peace and quiet. Neither need be, the trees remind, empty of opposite. Peace is the Response to Conflict. Quiet is the Response to Sound. The trees remind... with every rustle, with every whistle, with every creak, with every croak, The trees remind. Hushhh.... Shhhhh... Shanti. Shalom. Full of forest sound, I find my peace.
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