|'LIKE GOLD' From Visual Counterpoint|
The air drifted across her face like the touch of a butterfly,
She opened her eyes and saw the sun gleaming like gold through the trees,
‘Where are you?’ she asked.
The answer had been waiting for the right question at the right time so long that the small girl lying under the old tree did not understand the words when they reached her.
She only heard the wind rustle the leaves and the sound of silence was again lost in the sheer noise that surrounded it.
The child grew up always asking questions but none so fundamental as the one she so quickly forgot she had ever asked.
The only thing audible communication has to positively offer against the sheer negative destruction of silence is music.
All the rest is a lie.