A slight breeze ruffled the leaves. A piercing blue sky held steady above glowing red rock. Somewhere below, the creek murmured—steady, indifferent. Birds chirped as they settled in for the evening. And then, all became very quiet. Not empty—quiet. The kind of quiet that doesn’t ask anything
I stepped outside with a glass of Glenkinchie and a Romeo y Julieta, expecting the usual—music, something to fill the space, something to complete the moment. But there was no music. Not allowed, actually. So I sat there, mildly annoyed at first, as if something had been taken away.
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