It sounds so simple when we say silence is simply the absence of sound.

Yet, often how we react to silence is anything but simply.

Sometimes I chase it. Other times I run from it. In the past, when I finally had it, I cherished it, knowing it wouldn’t last long.

There have been many times in my life when I had to snatch moments of silence.

But there have probably been even more moments when I ran from silence.

When I was in high school I hated the word silence. I never understood when a librarian would order silence.

What is so special about silence? The librarian liked me and didn’t seem to mind when I stood at her desk talking to her. But if I walked away and talked with someone else the librarian gave me her shushing sound.

When I was in high school I thought silence stood for boring moments of stern mandates such as “Silence in here!”

I remember one time when not being silent cost me a place in the chorus.

I was trying to alert my friend Joan to come with me next period to try out for the school play.

At the time I was in chorus with Miss Jury. When she saw me talking to Joan she told me I should leave and not some back. No second chances.

I really liked chorus but I figured there would be other good activities. And there were. Drama class was especially appealing to me.

When I was a bit older I saw where silence and stillness helped me appreciate the beauty of my surroundings.

Especially when I was at the beach, the silence and stillness helped me better appreciate the sound of the mesmerizing sea. There I could also better hear the calling of birds and sometimes the soft whirl of the wind.

I learned the sound of a bumblebee could alert me to a pest I didn’t want to linger.

If I stayed in silence I could hear the rustling of trees and know without looking when the weather changed.

I never understood why the sounds of nature calmed me so much. But I was sometimes amazed at how much I could see or feel in nature with my eyes closed.

One of my favorite sounds has often been the flutter of bird wings.

The other day when I was feeling a little bit stressed about a medical test I wasn’t looking forward to I found a fast way to calm myself down. I sat on a park bench in a small garden and listened to the call of the birds and the sound of the wings of the bigger birds.

I learned the smaller birds seems to be more content, staying in the same spot, while the bigger birds were restless to stay in one stop. They probably had to search for dinner.

It’s amazing what you can learn about birds in a short time when you are quiet and observing.

If I sit in silence in that little garden I can hear the instruments of insects playing nature’s harmony.

If I sit in silence whatever worries I have leak away.

Silence has the ability to fill me with peace and understanding. What I learned about myself is that silence sometimes lets me dig through the layers of my thoughts and sometimes, in an almost magical way, it helps me find clarity — the clarity of my thoughts.

But OK, now for some truth telling. Sometimes silence is not my friend. It doesn’t always work its magic making me feel better.

What I’ve learned by talking to a lot of older folks is that often they have too much silence. Too much quiet.

I feel that way immediately after we have had the laughter and joy of having our children here to visit.

The house is so alive when my family is here. When they go the silence is so loud. Then I have to stop my solitary activities and turn on some music and push myself to be more active.

When my girls lived at home the house vibrated with happy noise and activity.

My daughters told me after they left home to start their own life I would miss my two dishwashers.

It isn’t the dishwashers or helping hands that a mother misses once the kids leave home.

It’s the very air that vibrates with activity when lively kids are in the house.

Before they left we traded barbs about what would happen when they were gone. I told the girls that they would be buried in toilet paper holders when they no longer had me to change the cardboard holders for the new one. They told me I would have no clean dishes when they weren’t here to do the dishes.

But I think we all knew the truth.

Their laughter would be missed. The joy they brought to every day would be missed. The house itself would mourn their absence

I did, too. When I was adjusting to the quiet I had to stay busy.

When we were no longer a lively family it took more to keep me busy.

Sometimes the sound of a voice is a gift. Other times the sound of silence is a gift.

I’ve learned to appreciate both.

Email Pattie Mihalik at newsgirl@comcast.net