A Memory of a Dream



“No need to panic,” assured the the fixer of all things rural & urbanic.

“All in a day’s work,” cried both the clerk & soda jerk.

In other words: perspective rules the day. Better yet, relativity rules the day. Every day. Unseen. Untasted. Unheard.

Einstein’s pet, which he describes thusly: “Put your hand on a hot stove for a minute, and it seems like an hour. Sit with a pretty girl for an hour and it seems like a minute. That’s relativity.”

Yet, embossed on the other side of the coin, countering – augmenting? {again: relativity} Einstein’s analogy is this ditty: “Two men say they’re Jesus. One of them must be wrong.” Dire straits, indeed.

One. Or both. Who really knows?

Jesus is a silent partner. Some hear Him. Some can’t. Or don’t. And instead hear only the din of silence.

A ‘silence’ that one has to have faith truly exists. Has anyone ever actually seen it? Tasted, touched or smelled it? Heard it, even. Or: ‘unheard’ it … ‘non-heard’ it?

Such is the improbable dilemma posed by the infamous tree in the forest falling on deaf ears. I can report that neither myself nor Mr. Heisenberg detected a sound while observing the event … his mere presence upsetting the atoms to no end.

“Do you think he’s right?” Guy’s really blowing my mind. “I’m here but, if someone’s watching, I’m not here?” What’s up with that?” asks Adam, the atom society’s spokesman, in his best Major Major voice.

“Odd thing is: he’s more or less right,” chimes in Mr. Tree.  Kind of. As in: when one of us happens to blow over for some ungodly reason – all 40 some feet of top heavy timber timbering down in an instant – the silence is indeed broken.

“Yet. We can only hear if each other crashes to ground. We can’t hear ourselves do so. Only a different tree – a living, upright tree can detect the demise of another. But not its own self.”

So to partially answer the age-old question: “Do we make a sound?” With a question …

“A sound?” “Really?” “5 tons of dense, living wood slamming into solid ground.” “Sound runs the full spectrum – from dog whistle to train whistle. But, whatever the parameters: “Yeah – We make a freeking sound.”

“But … no need to panic. We wouldn’t do so if you were around. Couldn’t do so if you were around. Instead. Just listen to the rustle of our leaves”

A quietly comforting soft silence. Timeless. As enveloping as it is ephemeral. Evoking a gauzy memory of a dream.

NOTE: The above, in response to the word-of-the-day ‘panic’ while weaving in a different daily prompt: ‘silence.’ PS … I graciously invite constructive criticism from YOU … re: this story. Overall thoughts? Specific or not … thanks … pr.


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