What is it about the quiet that I’m so drawn to?
The silence and the solitude,
The rustling of my sleeves and the falling leaves,
Or the gentle snow flakes falling on the wet ground?
What is it about the silence that I’m so drawn to?
The wind whispering in the distance,
The howling of a lost wolf in the darkness,
Or the feeling of being constantly watched by the restless trees?
What is it about the stillness that I’m so drawn to?
The freedom of walking alone in the dead of the night,
The pale moonlight hidden behind them ominous grey clouds,
Or is it the footsteps of forgotten spectres that walk beside me?