The Gift of Silence

Walking home from an event on Monday night, I was blessed with the opportunity to see Florence in a way that I am not sure I have ever seen it before: in silence.

Sometimes I forget where I am--just the same way we always forget where we are.  It's so easy to get lost in work or the people around us or Christmas shopping and, especially when you are running on a schedule as short as a semester, everything seems so important.  We just don't take the time to stop and breathe.  It's easy to lose sight of the big picture when you are engrossed in the details.

But, sometimes I remember exactly where I am.  And, I have to say, those moments are exhilarating.  My heart skips a beat and I have to physically stop whatever I'm doing to savor a particular view or a particular sound or a particular smell.  Monday night, I had one of those moments.

I was walking along the river and suddenly found myself alone: the people that had been walking behind me, passed in front of me and by some magical miracle, there were no cars on the road.  It was just the river and me, the buildings and me, the bridges and me, the stories and me.  So I guess you could say that even though I was alone, I was well-accompanied.

I paused to drink in the sound of the water, the lights on the bridge and the beautiful solitude of it all.  For a moment, I was the only person in Florence.  

Even though I had walked that particular path dozens of times, I can't remember ever being so alone or it being so quiet.  

In a world of noise, silence can be startling.  Today I am grateful for the gift of silence.