I'm familiar with this place and with these deserted country roads where I will hear a car or truck from a distance. I practice walking, saying the Jesus prayer with eyes closed, opening my left eye, that is the cloudy one for a moment after each prayer like a swimmer breathing after every stroke. This practice keeps me from wandering off the road.
In this manner of walking I am prevented from hearing with my seeing and my senses become more attuned. Walking I hear the wind passing through a line of pines bordering a home. The wind hisses like an intake of breath but passing into the gum trees on the other side of the road a mix of young trees clothed with leaves and older trees with branches further up with there a different melody. I feel in my body and through my being this melody and the richness in the soundscape.
There are single notes from a bird, the far off cry of a raven, a brief lorikeet cry, distant cars and the experience of flesh and blood moving through my body sustaining this movement and deep listening.
The feel of my woolen rosary moving through my left hand, the blink of my eye to check the location and a sense of openness and gratitude to The One in whom I live and move and have my being. I have heard a symphony of silence. I am embraced and the song of my heart drawn into that movement.