Alone In Silence It’s different sitting alone, smoking a cigar, headphones soothing music lost in the relativity of the stars and the ants crawling on the patio deck. Quite different than being so alone in the throngs of a New York City corner at lunchtime. “Do you remember the first time we were quiet together?” In China today, a baby died, an old man aged another day, and in an apartment on the 10th floor, two lovers kept evolution alive. The sunset tonight, voice raspy yet mesmerizing, its reflection highlighting the tops of the reeds guarding the pond. “Are you still as happy when we sit alone in silence?” Looking up to see the painting by Michelangelo of the cotton candy clouds pulling the light blue sky towards oblivion. Looking back down to see the clouds forming from the end of the cigar. Realizing the connection. More silence. “Come hold my hand, don’t say a word.” I remember Springsteen at a bar in Cleveland, 20 years old. Bathing in the antithesis of silence. Gazing at the pink and purple flowers you planted early Spring, I can hear that soundless percussion and twang. “I’ll stay quiet so you can listen with me.”