How dark can night be? How soundless can silence be?
A few years had passed since I had been back home in New Brunswick. Most of my life had been lived elsewhere. As a kid growing up in N.B., I have an instinct for life there, topped with some fabulous memories. So when my senses did not deliver a natural, laid back response to sleeping outdoors on a few July nights in rural N.B, I surprised myself.
July, 2019 a flight from the Billy Bishop Airport in Toronto landed us in Fredericton. More of the family arrived at the family home. We had decided to pack a tent to help out with accommodations and enjoy a bit of sleeping-in, outside.
It was the tenting experience that genuinely surprised us, about us.
Living downtown in the bustling metropolis of Toronto, where lights pretty much obliterate the sky's magnificence and where sound is constant (just at different levels) we knew our senses were over-stimulated. So crawling into a tent pitched in my mom's front yard seemed like such great outdoor fun.
It was the first night and I clicked off the last house light, stepped gingerly along the path toward the tent. I found my way guided by a small flashlight. Out of nowhere, an eeriness swept over me.
It was forty years ago that I lived here. Bear stories and then bear dreams creeped back along the edges of my memory and I picked up my pace. I unzipped the door flap of our tent and carefully hurried in - without tripping.
"Hi."
"Hi," Brent said. A little chit chat would put us into sleep mode.
No sleep, it turns out, before we listened to the silence and felt the darkness.
Our travels have taken us around the world. We searched our memories for anywhere else that the silence and darkness was so overwhelming. There had always been a sound, even in the wildest of places we'd travelled. There was human movement, dogs barking, roosters crowing, or traffic.
Tonight, there is no sound. No light. Deep darkness. Deep silence.
Deep slumber.
I miss that silence.