Darrell J. Wyatt, “The Plowman in Silence,” New Era, Jun 1979, 51
The plowman, in silence following his plow,
listens to the bright blade turn the spring-soft earth.
The oxen groan.
Taut reins sing in the breeze.
At the sharp cry of a jay he turns toward the grove
to see a boy, walking slowly
as if burdened by heavy questions,
disappear among the trees, being enfolded in gentle green.
Not hearing the whispered prayer,
the gentle introduction, and seeing nothing brighter than the sun,
he thinks the day not unlike another.
(Three more acres to plow and the morning wears on.)
driving the oxen home,
he listens to the barking of a dog,
not hearing the rejoicing of the heavens,
the singing of the stars
________________
For me, silence was scary and unproductive. I would always have music playing or the TV on--something to break the quiet. I even had a visiting teacher in college challenge me to enjoy silence and I thought, "She's crazy." Then I laid in a room by myself for a month and decided to join the crazy club.
I like it now and I'm really grateful that I had the chance to overcome this fear. I've spent way too much time as the man plowing my way through life instead of the boy in the grove burdened with questions, and I think I've missed some important things. Thank heavens that boy figured it out earlier than me.
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