Silence

The lake is not entirely frozen yet. So when my brother and I resolved to go ice fishing this last weekend, we crept carefully onto the lake, tapping it with the ice spud to make sure the path we took out was solid enough to walk on. The spot where we fish is not deep, so we weren't as stupid as this sounds.

Once out there, we drilled three holes, and put our gads in the water. My brother in law learned to make gads from a fellow who designed them with doorsprings and hockey sticks - far more advanced than the usual twig with a string design most people use.

As the sky got dark, we could make out an orange light across the lake. My brother in law joked as to what idiots would be out on the ice this time of year. I pulled out my binoculars to take a look, and then I passed them to my brother in law. From what we could tell, they were rebuilding a boathouse, and had a fire on the shoreline to keep warm.

My brother in law said to me, "You know, people say they come up here for the silence. And I don't find it ever silent here. There are always sounds... birds, leaves, do you hear the leaves over there? Sounds like Oak leaves."

"It does not happen often," I said, "but there is silence here. Do you remember that day the northern lights shone? I stood by the roadside that day, and all the birds had gone, and there was no wind, and I realized I have slight tinnitis, because all there was to hear were my own thoughts."

"I always listen for things," He replied.

Maybe the solace in sound that people take by a lake is not really the absence of sound. Perhaps it is the absence of artificial sound - the jarring ringing of pagers, cellphones, faxes; the frenzied beeping of computers and video games; or the endless honking and groaning of vehicles on clogged motorways.

Beside a lake, all you hear are the sounds of creation - the natural song of praise a made world sings to the one who made it. I can imagine that it does sound like silence to some.