Thoughts on the time change, silence and darkness 

There’s no such thing as total silence. Maybe there is no noise up in outer space, where there is no life and no oxygen up among the heavenly bodies there is no sound, but down here on planet Earth, where I intend to stay, it is difficult to get away from noise. 

Several years ago I worked a seasonal job at the Atlanta Botanical Gardens during the park’s Christmas light show. Each section of the attraction had a different theme, and, of course, holiday music was piped in through the loudspeakers. As if the millions of twinkling lights were not enough to elicit the spirit of the season, loud music played on a loop was provided to make it a fully immersive experience. Overall, it was a fun job. You just stood around, smiling, saying hello and answering questions and giving directions to the guests. However, after the shift was over you were sick of the same half-dozen or so songs that played over and over again in your area. 

By the end of the season, I would have been happy to never hear another Christmas song. But that was a long time ago, and I’m over my auditory PTSD. 

Noise is everywhere now. Whether ambient music in a store or restaurant, or the pings of notifications and other noises coming from the smartphones that permeate our lifestyle. I still want to throw mine in the river. 

We’ve been back to standard time for some weeks now, but I’m still adjusting to the early sunset. It’s dark when I leave the house and dark when I get home. I’m afraid of developing rickets. In the summer months I typically enjoy an afternoon walk outside. It’s a good way to decompress from the day and allow the brain to relax after a day of the noise and light pollution caused by our devices. My son usually joins me on these outings, creating more noise telling me about his day or detailing some working of his imagination. 

This is noise I can appreciate. 

Now such activity takes place in the dark. Darkness, like silence, is also hard to come by. There’s always a light on somewhere, or, not to belabor my point, the glow of a little, handheld screen. Instead of bewailing the sunshine, or my current lack of exposure thereof, I recently took advantage of the early sunset and exposed myself to darkness and silence, natural silence at least. It is amazing how the human eye adjusts and only after a few minutes the familiar shapes of my yard became clear in the dim starlight. 

As for the sound, there was only the rustle of grass and leaves, flutter of wings, maybe a bat, and the occasional chirp of the remaining insects. My son had to be hushed a couple of times. Just give me one minute, I told him. 

The time passed and I returned to my world – the one of light and noise. It was a fun visit. I’d like to go back sometime.