There must be another word to describe silence as here in Maine it is so much more profound that “silence”. Listen to the silence and you hear the soft, round roar to the lobster boat hauling traps a few islands away. Or maybe the loon crying because he is happy to have discovered a bit of fish in his glistening dive under the water in the quiet cove. Wait a minute while still listening to the air around you and there will be another echo of a boat engine and then the greedy gull calling back to you. When the wind starts up right after lunch the pines play an arpeggio of beaten drum notes lulling you into a nap of sweet summer dreams. Imagine tangy pine and sticky ginger drifting under your nose and then suddenly, some rock salt in water with sprits of sea mud thrown in for good measure. At night when lying between air dried summers sheets you ask the Indian ghosts to stay above you and you tell them you are sorry. Ask for the blessing of sweet Venus and for the grace of the moon so your sleep will be safe all night. When it is morning try to stay as still as invisible in your bed and refuse to start the inhalation of the morning.