“Is it not glorious?” he’d asked me, hand stretched to pull me up the slope towards him. “Can you not hear that silence?”

I shook my head, ignored his hand and grabbed the out-crop with as many fingers as would worm their way into the slate cracks.

“Serenity at its purest,” he told me and all I could think was of the ground water finding it’s way to the cavern floor in thick droplets, creating noise that explodes off every niche and fissure.

“Heaven,” he whispered, making me wish that he would simply stop. I was not here for his words, or the sound of his breath stirring the air that had not moved in centuries. I’d come for the promise of silence.

Inspired by a post on Biblioklept.