There is no such thing as true silence
At least not on this earth
For the earth itself has sound
It hums
Constantly
But it is often covered

By the sounds of people and of grass or pavement under feet
Of water or cars rushing by
Of the wind whispering through leaves of trees

But in the lonely places of the world
Where for miles and miles there is nothing but dirt
and nothing -or almost nothing-grows
Where, if you stand on a hill and listen closely
You can hear the muffled voices of those a mile away

In those places you can hear the earth
Deep and low and full
A sound silenced by the culmination of other sounds
Which are themselves mistaken for silence
A sound that when heard, though quiet enough to be drowned out by whispering  trees, fills the void with sound
The sound of Earth singing