What Roots Hear in the Dark

Beneath our feet, something historical listens. It generally does not talk in language or icons, in the reduced sound of tectonic plates, in the gradual move of continents, in the manner roots explore the night without eyes. We go across its skin, never understanding how strong their memory runs. Every grain of mud has broken from the mountain. Every drop of water was after part of a storm no-one remembers. The Earth recalls everything — it really doesn't speak it aloud.

Their voice is concealed in silence — the kind of stop that echoes. You are able to feel it when the breeze dies and the trees stay absolutely still. You can hear it in the stillness after thunder, when even birds appear to pause. That stop is not empty. It is filled with believed, full of age, full of presence. The World isn't calm since it's asleep. It is quiet because it is hearing — to us, to the sky, to itself.

We are loud. We load the air with motors, sirens, voices, audio, machines. But nothing of that noise basins to the ground. The Planet listens maybe not with ears but with patience. It waits for what comes after our noise — what remains when our houses drop, when our signals diminish, when the satellites burn out in top of the sky. And when the period comes, it will still be here — however turning, still blooming in places untouched, still whispering with techniques just the wind and the sources may hear.

We think of Earth as strong, as unmoving, as a thing we stay on. But it's more than that. It's a human anatomy — living, shifting, breathing over time too gradual for people to see. It doesn't shout, it doesn't beg. It endures. And because quiet endurance lies an electric much more than fire or flooding: the power of anything that has nothing to prove. Something that has currently survived the beginning of the Planet, the death of forests, the silence following meteors.

This is simply not just land. It is not merely stone and water. It is really a keeper. A cradle. A storage that does not forget. Somewhere heavy under, underneath the force and rock, it however murmurs the history of how everything began.

However it won't ever inform us in words.

We should learn to listen in silence.