Tansy Counts the Quiet — Every evening, when the yard turned honey-colored, Tansy tucked her eggs close and played her new game: Count the Quiet. One point for a soft breeze. Read the full story →
Every evening, when the yard turned honey-colored, Tansy tucked her eggs close and played her new game: Count the Quiet. One point for a soft breeze. Two for a sleeping beetle under straw. Three for the pause after the gate latch clicked. She loved how the world grew larger when she listened hard enough to hear almost nothing.
Until one day, the quiet answered back. From the open barn doorway came a hollow, silvery hush, not empty at all but ringing, like moonlight in a bucket. Because of that, Tansy stopped counting and tilted her head. Because of that, the eggs beneath her warmed and gave the tiniest tap-tap-tap, as if they wanted a turn. “Wait,” she whispered, and the straw prickled softly against her feathers.
At last Tansy changed the rules: any quiet that could answer was not a quiet to count, but a quiet to keep company. She settled lower, listening to the doorway, the eggs, and the leafy fence beyond, all breathing together. Next time you see her there, see if you can find the place where the silence seems to be listening back.
