Beauty in Noise

The rush of static is an assault on my ears, tearing through my eardrums like a tornado. It pounds rocks, knawing at the rugged edges. The waterfall crashes with the intensity of a tractor-trailer slamming into a Prius. Imagine the plight of the bedrock, enduring millennia of non-stop abuse. The noise, this warble, adds to the fierce natural power. It silences my busy brain, simply talking over internal monologues. I stare at the steady discharge until I feel my brain slow.

Along the stream bed I trek, climbing over boulders worn by glaciers. I see granite, sandstone, and quartz. There, just beyond the liquid avalanche – quiet.

The water still molds rocks, but without the violent intensity. A stream settles in low spots before advancing. It is the quiet intellectual. Sunlight flickers on the surface, flashing brilliantly. The water waits its turn before sliding around the rocks. Sitting in the coarse sand by the stream, I watch it trickle by. I can use the flow to organize my thoughts.