"When I was a sixteen-year-old naturalist in training, we were instructed to sit
in the forest and wait for the return of something called the baseline symphony.
The baseline symphony was the music of a landscape at easethe confluence of
insect, bird, and animal song, underscored by wind and water. The dynamics of
that symphony shifted as day progressed into night. There were brief caesuras,
but it did not fall silent for long except in the case of a disturbance. Silence
signaled the onset of weather events, a stalking predator, the encroachment of
loggers, or the footfalls of a teenager with punk rock looping loudly in her
brain. As I picked down the forest path, an unnatural quiet fell, broken only by
the occasional bird alarm."
Lisa Wells explores the many dimensions of silence in this powerful, and
personal piece.
