non-blondy

hubert was a quiet man in love with quiet things the cricket-hum of summertime the soft rain every spring the differing dance of snowflakes (no two falling looked the same) the way a rushing river seemed to murmur out his name the faint audible magic of a well meant whispered wish the warm under- water greeting of a fish meeting a fish and when confronted with rough frequencies his fragile ears just couldn't take he'd sidestep the whirring world with a quick trip to the lake atop a tiny private island mountain-hid from public view he rejoiced in the nearly silent sound of his heart as it grew