The sound of quiet

I walked out into the late fall air, absorbed in my errand as my footsteps fell quietly down the front steps. Too quietly. I looked up from the ground before me and fell still. Still. Something in the air. It was...quiet. No cars rushed by. No trains blew their horns. Neighbors set their kids to bed tucked inside their homes. Businesses closed their doors hours ago when the sun set and a chill gently soaked into the air. So quiet. I had been alone in front of the computer before, but this was quieter yet. No keyboard clacking. No hum of the tiny fan. So still.

I had stepped into a painting, with all the cars frozen and the flickering lights tamed in a steady silence. A hint of fog gave faint halos to distant streetlights hiding behind soft trees. The heavy air dampened sounds and soaked up shadows. I had seen this before. I had been here before. In my youth. Maybe sitting on a back porch looking out across the garden to the neighbor's field. Maybe walking across the school yard past fading snow drifts, brown grass padded by the wet ground underneath, unbothered by the crisp air as my coat wrapped around me. I wanted to go back to that time. I wanted to remember that time.

I'm not sure why. Often these moods strike me, especially sitting by myself on starry night or walking under a brooding sky. I wasn't happy then. I found moments of happiness, but mostly I found still moments of introspection tinged with melancholy. As the feeling lingered a few moments, a car revved behind me while the stereo blared rapper's boasts. I am back in the present. Wondering if someday I might walk outside and be captivated by a magical light, and be taken back to an unnamed night long ago. And try to remember what I felt like. Tonight.