White is a Color

I know the silence between the calls of two mourning doves. I know the silence when I first open my eyes in the morning and my eye lids are the only thing stirring. I know the silence of sitting with one whose body is alive but their soul is dancing in another world. I know the silence in a symphony before the final crescendo. I know the silence of the night lying on top of the day. I know the silence of trees standing in a forest and the footsteps of ants. I know the silence of nature’s breath known only by the movement of the grass. I know the silence of eyes locked into another’s speaking volumes without voice. I know the silence of wanting to be home. I know the silence of sand pipers running along the Gulf shore line. I know the silence of the sunrise. I know the silence of writing the last word of something I believe. I know the silence of sitting in a sanctuary and praying without words. I know the silence of the eye of a hurricane. I know the silence of standing at a grave. I know the silence when you’re leaving and the door has shut. I know the silence of an eclipse and a falling star. I know the silence of a butterfly’s wings and an eagle soaring.


White is not the absence of color.