Silence
From an old log…
Sometimes my mother would make some sandwiches and a bottle of tea to take to my grandfather who would be out in some field or other mending a gate or repairing a gap in a stonewall that had been knocked by a wild bullock or one gust of wind too many. This was the only time I was alone with my grandfather and it was usually spent in silence. He was a man of few words, gentle, wise, principled, with simple, straightforward beliefs.
Those silent moments with my grandfather were comfortable, contemplative, almost like meditation, as if through his silence he was heightening my awareness of the world around me; the birds whistling, the distant hum of a tractor spreading fertilizer, a mother calling her children, cattle lowing, the warm summer breeze ruffling the leaves, the schlump sound as he took a swig from the bottle of tea. Talk less, listen more, learn. I do not remember a word that passed between us but I learned lessons that I have carried with me ever since.
Mark Waters marked time at 12:01 am on June 17th, 2004 .
