I t was quiet yesterday when the light withdrew from Fort Hale Park. Only a handful of people had come to watch a sunset that might never have arrived: a thin flash of fire at the edge of an ink wash sky. As birds in silhouette traced long arcs over the harbor, waves lapped the beach and shifted clumps of rounded stones, which then knocked and crackled as they settled into place. The rainstick sound was soothing and restorative, and in six years of coming here, amid larger and louder crowds, I’d never noticed it.
When things are quiet, quiet things can finally be heard.
This Thanksgiving, when many of us are more alone than we expected to be, that’s something to be thankful for.
Written and photographed by Dan Mims.
