Yesterday, I took time out from work to go for a twenty minute walk in the afternoon. The sky was completely overcast with a dense blanket of silver clouds, and the temperature was such that the morning mist had never had a chance to lift. What impressed me immediately about the day was its quietness. I stepped out of the building, and everthing was perfectly still. Even the ring of my boot heels was softened by the silence around me.
As I wended my way up the road and back again, a soft frosting of dew-like rain settled on my hair, cocooning me in the texture of the day. All about me was tranquility, and with a whisper, that peace stole right into my heart, leaving me utterly content with a blissful quiet in my soul. Only grey misty days are capable of producing just that kind of stillness, that simple uncomplicated silence that is happy just to be what it is, as it is--not anticipatory, not active, not lazy, not languid--just complete.