Apology

Do not be angry

if for a while I escape into

the shadows of the waning day.

Sometimes the spirit holds an emptiness

that only silence can fill—

sometimes even friendship’s warmth

seems cold and comfortless.

And I hunger for quiet,

for the grey of rain

and the somber brown of autumn,

more attuned to the gentle nuances of fading

or the first breath of beginning

than to the brash, suffocating turmoil

of noontime light and life.

And if I linger by the wayside

when day is darkened and gone,

or if I wander more gladly

through echoing, deserted hallways,

it is because there is music

in the leaves drifting beneath the lowering clouds,

and in silence one can hear

the still voice of God whispering softly. …