Atmosphony

Chattering  birds and full grown trees, night skies that glowed almost as bright as the day. Silence never had to settle. It existed from the first rising sun. It could be found between the earth and everything that walked upon its surface. Noise was the intruder, the sinking force that slammed across the waters. Cold arctics and warm tropics made up the surface, each land filled with warmth or cold just right for the life that breathed its air.

The scream of engines, the shouts of people, silence had fled faster than light, leaving noise to create its own life. Filling the furnace and checking the flames, the people wiped the drops of sweat from their brows. They shoveled coal into the open mouth that spat smoke and debris into the air. On every river and every track, a cloud of danger slowly rose to hug the loving sun. 

Where did the silence go? We contemplate its absence, in the low drone and buzz of machinery around us. The water used to shine like crystals; now the things that catch the sun are bottles floating on the surface. Perfect lands of ice and of sand, slowing withering. The smoke and the dirt poked holes in our skies. The sun never knew. How could that little star and its once helpful rays hear the melting of the ice and drying of the rains? The people underneath, hiding from its rays—but continuing on, full speed ahead.