A Quiet End

The nearly full moon has risen in the sky before the sun has set. The textured surface of the moon is visible against the bright blue sky. It is chilly, but not frigid on the last day of the year. It is quiet on the mountain.

I have not put in my Airpods like I normally do on dog walks. I'm taking in the sounds of the day. Birdsong is the most prominent. There are a variety of different birds but I can't identify them by their songs. I don't hear any cars or trucks or even the dull hum of highway noise. It is quiet on the mountain.

A single airplane flies overheard, breaking the silence. It has been a noisy year with lies, corruption and executive orders. We have heard the crumbling of democracy. Every speech, TV interview, court decision, federal agent footstep created an echo. Each brick that came down from the East Wing of the White House reverberated across the history that built this nation. The protests have gotten larger and louder, but they still feel like screaming into the void. It is quiet on the mountain.

The wind blows past my ears. It is not much more than a breeze. Overhead two vultures are circling. In my head I hear the wind rustling through their feathers. There is nothing of interest and they continue on their search. As this day slides into the next one we get closer to the end. I don't know what that end looks like, but it is coming. All I can do is wait. It is quiet on the mountain.