The Soundscape: Our Sonic Environment And The Tuning Of The World - Plot & Excerpts
It might be in the woods, or out at sea, or on a snowy mountainside in winter. One would look up at the stars or the soundless soaring of the birds and be at peace. Leaning on our stout oaken walking sticks, our sacks on our backs, we climbed the cobbled road that led to Karyés, passing through a dense forest of half-defoliated chestnut-trees, pistachios, and broad-leafed laurels. The air smelled of incense, or so it seemed to us. We felt that we had entered a colossal church composed of sea, mountains and chestnut forests, and roofed at the top by the open sky instead of a dome. I turned to my friend; I wanted to break the silence which had begun to weigh upon me. “Why don’t we talk a little?” I suggested. “We are,” answered my friend, touching my shoulder lightly. “We are, but with silence, the tongue of angels.” Then he suddenly appeared to grow angry. “What do you expect us to say? That it’s beautiful, that our hearts have sprouted wings and want to fly away, that we’ve started along a road leading to Paradise?
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