The Echo of Solitude

The Echo of Solitude

“Solitude isn’t all that bad.” Clayton had never known solitude. Being alone. Being lonely. He knew those all too well. When he heard the word ‘solitude’ he shut down. Those alone times were frightening. But here he was in the midst of a nowhere place where all he could hear were night birds welcoming the dusk. Only a drift of cloud, deep pink and purple hovered at the horizon. Then he picked up another sound. At first it was like a …..what was that….. water dripping? No, it’s the creek by the ancient mill across the gravelled road. A slight breeze picked up his hair. In the distance, a train whistle echoed. Lifting his flute to his lips, Clayton piped a trill onto the evening breeze. All that remained was the echo of solitude.

“Then stirs the feeling infinite, so felt

In solitude, where we are least alone.”

~ George Gordon Byron, Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage