“Written in Early Spring” by William Wordsworth (1770–1850)

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  I HEARD a thousand blended notes   While in a grove I sate reclined,  In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts  Bring sad thoughts to the mind.  To her fair works did Nature link  The human soul that through me ran;  And much it grieved my heart to think  What Man has made of Man.  Through primrose tufts, in that sweet bower,  The periwinkle trail’d its wreaths;  And ’tis my faith that every flower  Enjoys the air it breathes.  The birds around me hopp’d and play’d,  Their thoughts I cannot measure,—  But the least motion which they made  It seem’d a thrill of pleasure.  The budding twigs spread out their fan  To catch the breezy air;  And I must think, do all I can,  That there was pleasure there.  If this belief from heaven be sent,  If such be Nature’s holy plan,  Have I not reason to lament  What Man has made of Man?

Silence

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Very few nowadays have experienced true silence. Our world is saturated in sound. Everywhere we go, a TV is on, or music is coming from somewhere. Even if we turned them off we hear blowers, fans, engines running, a siren passing to some emergency somewhere, people talking on their handhelds or playing games. Vehicles are loaded with ridiculous sound systems that announce their presence long before they are seen.


Where are the quiet moments? When are the quiet moments? Can’t go to sleep without the sound of a machine running (maybe that’s snoring), or brown noise or ambient tones. No wonder our brains are restless. 


It’s time to strike out again, leave the headphones at home and find the silence God intends. Give your spirit a rest from the hubbub and listen to the wind in the trees, birdsong, the crackle of a fire. Somewhere, it’s snowing and in the soft-drifted-down is a deafening silence as the world snuggles under nature’s muffler. 

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