(Yes, it’s a bird, silly.)
I see. I see. I see. I see. I do not hear. I do not hear the silent warbler.
Because it is silent. Silent like a ninja or a screen door not opening. Silent like a crescent moon or, hell, even a full moon. Silent like a statue of a dromedary, but not a real dromedary–they’re very noisy. Silent like an absence of something real. Silent like the absence of something unreal. I imagine snow falling is silent, but that’s not true. It makes a sound, even though I cannot hear it. Not so the silent warbler. I once saw an owl fly. Its wings made no noise that I could hear, even though its wingbeats were so loud to my eyes. I thought I was sitting in silence, but now I hear this hum, the hum of electricity in wires powering all the things around. Somewhere water drips. Once, I woke to the sound of music, but there was no music anywhere. It was all in my head. Was that sound? In this music, there were voices singing. It was like no song I had heard or remembered hearing before. Sometimes I hear my eyelids blink. It’s funny when people say that it’s so loud they can’t hear themselves think. No one ever says it’s so dark they can’t see themselves think. No one ever says it’s so bright they can’t see themselves think. No one ever says it’s so quiet I can’t hear myself think. Or do they? I wonder what the silent warbler does when it’s not warbling. Perhaps it warbles in its mind. And now I think you suspect I’ve written all of this just so I could write the word warble a bunch. You’d probably be right, but maybe you’d be wrong.
I do love a good warble, silent or otherwise.
Also, a gargle.