Silence is empty, cautious, gentle, simple, vulnerable, light, fragile, and great.
Silence lives in many places, but above all, its most natural habitat is among the thick summer grass and under stones, where it is humid and foggy. Silence floats in the grass, dances, writes, nests.
The silence in the grass is the hair of the earth that curls around your feet and asks you to stop and be quiet, maybe even lie down on your side, and let that silence penetrate deep into your ears.
There is also plenty of silence at home. In fact, at home, very much at home. All the closets and corners are filled with silence. It covers the floor like a thick carpet and drips down from the ceiling in a thick dark jelly. It accumulates in the cupboards and drawers like soft moss or thick cobwebs.
Cats and people who sleep a lot love silence. People who live another life in their dreams, a parallel one that is no less real.
Silence floats through the rooms, streets, or paths like a majestic tall ship in front of which everyone stops, parts, stops talking and opens their mouths in admiration.
And the purest and most beautiful silence resides between two thoughts, between two breaths, between two heartbeats.