Walking in Quiet

Walking in a November night.

The winter wind had a kiss of summer breeze.

I sat down in the plush green and let the emerald nails

bend against my face.

My mouth was dry but it was tolerable.

The wind was cold but I did not hurry home.

And the air . . . the air sat perfectly on a balance

Somewhere between heightening my senses and dulling them to oblivion.

Quiet, it has been my friend when I have had no other.

Listened to those fears I could not share.

And in moments of desolation I have sometimes found shelter,

Letting my thoughts run over through the silence.

Quiet, at times it has helped me to be my own best friend and savior.

Walking in a September night.

The summer wind had a bite of winter breeze.

I sat down in the harsh leaves as the brown sticks broke against my back.

My mouth was wet but intolerably dry.

The wind was warm but the night seemed very cold.

And the air . . . the air sat perfectly on a balance

Somewhere between heightening my senses and dulling them to oblivion.

Quiet, it has stolen my friends when I needed them the most,

Created insecurities that were not there.

And in moments of desolation I have sometimes been lost.

Letting the silence run over my thoughts.

Quiet, at times it has tricked me into my worst nightmare.

John Grace, M.D.

Class of ‘00