When we walk outside these days, we still whisper for a while. We talk low, even though the breeze and the birds and even the lingering whine of distant tractor trailers drowns our own words. We are so used to the quiet of the walls and roof that the open air doesn’t widen our voices as it would normally. Quiet has captured us.

Still, we are loud. We move chairs or wash dishes and cringe at our massive noise. We are an earthquake of sound.

She, she whispers so softly that we must lean in, her breath moving the hair by our ears. “I love you, honey” she breathed out tonight in my ear. My heart shouted with comfort.

Gandara Whispers by Mac McArthur“Gandhara Whisper” by Mac McArthur