Tacet, Adagio, Animandosi

A picture of the absolute darkness with the sliver of the sunset mentioned in the essay.

By day, the serene silence hushes all who are present within the sanctity of the surrounding fences. By night, nothing can be heard over the explosion of croaks that drown out all sound. It is a gathering of all kinds of vegetation that mesh together to form the very ground of this place. I have known of this place for years, yet I rarely enjoy the peace or sounds it has to offer. I do not need to visit it, for even thoughts of it bring an essence of calmness, or of joy. It is a sanctum of peace, an orchestra pit for frogs, the garden of the Victor Residence.

It is at the time of morning when the sun begins to peak over the rolling hills nearby that the silence is most intense, for nothing dares to disturb the peace there, in fear that some godlike force would smite them for the disturbance. Quite, eerie, still-the garden was almost uncomfortably peaceful. The stone wall that borders the polished wooden table at the edge of the garden has the appearance of an impenetrable castle, standing as still as everything else that surrounds it. The chill that settles in the garden and the frozen stream that also dares not to flow reflect the silence that resembles a stopping of time. Nothing is heard. No one is seen. The tension of silence in the garden is the relaxing peace that the local wildlife enjoy there. The mist that wafts through the garden acts as an agent of peace, enveloping everything with its untouchable body. This shroud of mist helps to hide the morning visitors of the garden, who enjoy the peace for only a moment before trotting, scampering, or fluttering away. The garden in the morning is truly tacet.

It is at the time of noon when the sun is the strongest, floating high over the garden. The mix of frail, old, growing, and strong trees protect most of the garden from the ultra-violent rays. The air is light and crisp, easily breathed and always enjoyed. Life begins to exist in the garden again. The nearby stream flows down into the nearby ravine, emitting a quite trickle, while light breezes replaces any lingering mists or chills. The mix of shade from the trees and the radiating sun makes one think that the temperature is balanced beyond possibility, in a sense of perfection. A wandering hand can feel that the skins of the trees are rough and sturdy, and that the leaves of the bushes are smooth and silky, and that the stones and rocks are aged and grippy with what feels like a thirst for water. It is only now that the birds begin to chirp their familiar tunes. The fence that surrounds the garden acts as only a visual boundary, for an occasional squirrel or deer rustles in the bushes and would display the ineffectiveness of the fence by merely slipping through. The sun shines on the small stone bridge that stretches over the stream, where lizards can be found basking in the sun, and it shines on the blackberry bush that borders the garden, producing baskets of blackberries that are inaccessible due to the thorny armor that protects them. The slow and peaceful flow of the garden at noon can undoubtedly be described as adagio.

It is at the time of dusk when the sun sinks down into the horizon, and with its presence gone, absolute darkness grips the garden, with the exception of the faint glow of the sunset giving off a sliver of light before it is completely gone. Any signs of silence are gone, as if they never existed, and is replaced with the sheer force of a thousand frogs continuously sounding off thought the whole of the night. Any recent rains would evoke these musicians to vocalize, and they joyously exploit any chance they get to do so. The frogs are heard, but are not seen: The darkness of the night and the wave of croaks prevent any detection of frogs. The once protecting trees with their branches hanging over the garden now appear as long and intertwined fingers, grabbing at the air, almost as if trying to escape the range of the frogs’ orchestra. It is cold. An air colder than what the morning usually offers is felt in the very soul of those who are there in the night, but the cold is not a peaceful or stilling one. It is a cold of vigor and excitement. This very vigor, excitement, and resonation of frogs is the essence of animandosi.

It is the joy that the silence and sounds bring to the visitor, making it a memorable place; the garden is a unique peace, continuously changing. The day brings silence and the night brings clamor; the silence raises peace and the clamor raises chaos; the peace cannot be imitated and the chaos cannot be tamed. The garden-the essences of tacet and silent, adagio and calm, animandosi and chaotic-is unique in every way.

By Ken S.