What Roots Hear in the Dark

Beneath our legs, anything historical listens. It doesn't speak in language or designs, but in the lower hum of tectonic plates, in the gradual drift of continents, in the way sources explore the night without eyes. We go across its epidermis, never understanding how heavy their memory runs. Every grain of sand has damaged from the mountain. Every drop of rain was once element of a surprise no body remembers. Yet the Planet recalls every thing — it really does not speak it aloud.

Their voice is concealed alone — the kind of silence that echoes. You are able to experience it when the wind dies and the trees stay completely still. You can hear it in the stillness after magic, when actually birds seem to pause. This stop is not empty. It is high in thought, whole old, full of presence. The Earth is not quiet since it is asleep. It is quiet since it is hearing — to people, to the air, to itself.

We're loud. We fill the air with motors, sirens, sounds, music, machines. But nothing of the noise basins into the ground. The World concentrates perhaps not with ears but with patience. It waits for what uses our sound — what remains when our houses fall, when our signs fade, when the satellites burn out in top of the sky. And when that time comes, it it's still here — however turning, still blooming in places untouched, still whispering in manners just the breeze and the roots may hear.

We consider Planet as solid, as unmoving, as a thing we stay on. But it's significantly more than that. It is a human body — alive, moving, breathing with time also slow for us to see. It doesn't shout, it doesn't beg. It endures. And in that quiet energy lies an electrical far higher than fireplace or flooding: the energy of something that's nothing to prove. Something that's already lasted the birth of the Planet, the demise of forests, the stop after meteors.

This isn't just land. It's not merely rock and water. It is a keeper. A cradle. A storage that does not forget. Anywhere strong below, underneath the force and stone, it however murmurs the history of how all of it began.

But it won't tell us in words.

We should figure out how to listen in silence.