by Kent Reichert
We stand in the antechamber at the juncture of silence and awe, amid the revelation that in order to grasp, one must first understand that silence; hear the voice of unspoken words; welcome the written word in its profound hush; heeding its directive to be still. It is in the instant the stone hovers just above the surface of the pond, that we perceive the fullness of each pregnant rest; understand each note and tone that left the ear alone to consider, to await. Like a vessel becalmed, or stars sighing in a distant firmament, silence unveils the soul in all its colors, its dreams, its realities, seeing through the glass facade of mirrors to the truth of who we are, in all our silver echo, and know that seeds grow soundlessly within the soil, holding their radiant display of floral hues suspended, neither absent nor present, as one heavy with child. The fullness of time ushers each to the boundaries of silence. Approaching sounds ripple, grasping for the ear as passing waves and in that breath, eternity pauses.
A lifelong educator, Kent Reichert, holds a Master’s degree in Religion from Wake Forest University and a doctorate from UNC-Charlotte. A native of Southern California, he has spent the last 50 years living the North Carolina piedmont. His writing has appeared in The Dead Mule, The Dispatch and New Verse News, receiving a Best of the Net nomination for his poem Three Days by Rail from North Carolina.