I am eight years old. My little sister and I are lying on our backs on a tiny lake beach, staring up at the numberless stars in the Wisconsin night sky. We have never seen so many stars.

We hear an unfamiliar sound – soft, soothing and rhythmic. It comes from delicate waves on the lake, lapping onto the shore. We hear a chorus of frogs, not unpleasant. We are startled the first time we hear the crazy laughter of a loon echo over the water, so we squeal and cling together. Soon we relax again into the quiet of the night.

I am far from eight years old now. Very far. Yet, this remains one of my favorite memories from our childhood summer vacations. Just today I realized why.

It was the silence. Far up North, in that little town in the middle of the Nicolet forest, we enjoyed the peace that came with silence. No traffic noise. Not one hot rod or motorcycle or down-shifting Mack truck for miles. No police cars or ambulances screaming past. No airplanes roaring overhead.

In that pre-cellphone silence, I read. I sketched. Sometimes, I just sat and studied the fascinating structure of a fern. Sometimes, I even prayed, awkward childlike prayers.

In today’s world, where is our silent time? I believe it is a gift too precious to lose. So, I am fighting to keep sufficient silence in my life. The benefits may be immeasurable.

Dori Lynn Michaels

Fox River Grove