We started as a whisper.
Some of our tribe say it was a Big Bang.
The adolescent males of our group,
the ones who like explosive release, named it this.
The Big Bang.
The Big Bangers cannot tell what happened
during the first little bit of time
before their Bang began.
It was a whisper.
It started as a whisper.
We started as a whisper.
Quiet, almost indiscernible.
It was the beginning of the out-breathing.
The Silence was not rude.
It did not sneeze.
It did not shout.
As the Breath poured
out of the Silence,
it furled and unfurled,
eddied and swirled.
One unified out-breathing,
spilling from the depths of the Silence,
taking shape and form.
The whisper came out of the Silence.
We do not know where the Silence came from.
We are good at tracking noise.
Deciphering silence is not our strong suit.
Some say the Silence was an interlude,
a space between two songs;
that the silence was like the pause
between in-breathing and out-breathing.
The in-breathing is a coming home song,
calling everything and everyone home.
The out-breathing is a leaving home song,
wishing all a safe journey on the untravelled roads of time.
Some say we have just about reached
the fullest extent of the out-breathing,
that we are so far out
we are having trouble
hearing the song now.
They say there will be a pause,
then we will begin the long journey home.
Ed note: George Breed is a long time resident of Flagstaff and denizen walking the streets of Flagstaff with camera in hand recording the life of our bustling town. We will hear more from him as time goes on.
