Slow rhythm of the season. There is growing darkness. And then there is silence. Silence echoes more prominently in being alone. And it gets deeper and deeper and deeper as it expands, slowly. Deep thoughts emerge and float in silent and hollow space. Freezing cold outside. The temperature has gone down to sub-zero level. This only thickens even more the substance of silence and the solitude and the stillness and the longing and the belonging and the mere existing and beauty and meaning. At this point, fidelity takes over to sustain as time, and even quantum mechanics for all its complexities, becomes irrelevant. And then… there are no more words. Only silence. My granddaughter is back home from school.