When Silence Sings

There is a special kind of peace I feel only when the man-made sounds go quiet. When I leave my phone behind, request my friends to turn off the bluetooth speaker, and allow the world to sound exactly as it is meant to. Out here in my orchard, in the woods, or in any natural place, I often wonder why anyone would want to fill this space with music however pleasant it may be.

The air already hums with its own rhythm. The leaves rustle softly as the wind moves through them, sometimes quite loud when the wind seems to run on them. Birds begin their morning conversations long before I wake, each with its own tone and intention. The song of the blue whistling thrush, the chatter of black-headed jays and magpies, the steady tapping of a woodpecker on an old pine. This is music in nature that is composed without instruments, performed without rehearsal, and felt most deeply when we stop trying to add ‘music’ to it.

Playing recorded music, however beautiful, often feels like putting up a wall between me and the living world. It turns the landscape into background scenery rather than something that speaks and responds. When a speaker plays from a pocket or a porch, the birds seem to grow quieter, the critters retreat, and even the wind seems to lose its voice. What remains is not companionship but intrusion.

There are, of course, a few exceptions. When the harsh sounds of machinery fill the air, a little music can offer relief. And during weddings or village celebrations, when ‘modern’ songs echo across the valley, I accept them as part of collective joy, even if not exactly welcome. One learns to live with those few days of festive noise. I cannot influence everyone, but perhaps I can guide my small circle, those who go for walks with me in the orchard or nearby woods or even to picnics away from other humans, to listen a little more and add their own a little less.

I do love music and often enjoy it on a decent system but that is when I want to actually indulge myself and do some serious listening. Occasionally, I do switch on the radio, which keeps me entertained while I do some mundane jobs on the computer. In my greenhouse, which also serves as a small conservatory, I keep a modest speaker that I occasionally use when friends or guests drop by. That’s as far as it goes, never for the open outdoors.

True listening in nature requires stillness. In that stillness, I begin to notice the finer details – the buzz of a bumblebee moving from flower to flower, the faint creak of an old branch swaying under its own weight, the distant call of a raptor circling high above. These are not random sounds. They are part of a vast and balanced orchestra that has existed long before us. When people who stay with me understand this, a whole new world opens up to them. Background music by the bonfire is fine, but song of crickets, occasional ”who-who” of our resident owlet, accompanied by crackle of fire is even better. Lately, people seem to enjoy music at very high volumes and so I always have to request them to keep it low.

There is something deeply healing about this quietness. Whenever I travel anywhere and then return back to my small sanctuary, my mind, so used to constant noise and stimulation, begins to settle. Thoughts stretch out instead of colliding. My senses grow sharper. Even my heart seems to slow down to match the rhythm of the surroundings. This is the gift of silence, a kind of awareness that no composed melody can imitate. People visiting me can also feel it and they have shared this sensation with awe with me.

Those who live close to the land know this instinctively. Old generation of farmers, shepherds, and naturalists often prefer to work in quiet, not out of discipline but out of respect. They know that when you listen closely enough, nature tells you what it needs – the soil crumbling beneath your feet, the wind that shifts before a storm, the change in bird calls that hints at rain, or the way crickets chirp in changing temperatures.

Every time I step outdoors, I let the wind be my melody and the forest my sound system. The music is already playing; I only need to listen.

And if you, my friend, still wish to hear your own tunes, use earphones and keep them to yourself. What sounds like music to one person may be just noise to another and silence, after all, is the one song that everyone can share.

Click here for all related posts – Browse my blog on slow and sustainable living !