Falling Silent.

Every year at around this time I find myself feeling subdued when I’m out of doors. I get a sense that there’s something missing, and so I look around, trying to identify what it is. Everything looks pretty much the same as it did yesterday, and yet the feeling grows stronger the more I look. What’s interesting is that it’s the opposite of the sense I get every year in April or early May, when I seem to feel something subtle in the air that wasn’t present the day before.

Could the obvious suspicion be the truth? Could it be that the hum of Mother Nature, which grew inaudible through familiarity during the summer, has now fallen silent? Sudden silence is almost as potent as sudden noise.

*  *  *

I noticed when I got back from the walk that the boys in the back field had disappeared, to be replaced by a different herd of young beef cows which used to occupy another field further up the lane. I fear the worst; I fear their three year tenure has run its course. I watched them a lot during the spring and summer months, coming both to identify individuals and observe the group dynamic. I grew quite fond of them, which I suppose I shouldn’t.