At first her refusal to speak very often upset me, but over time I've grown used to it and now love her the better for it. Ivy May's silence can be a great comfort. There is nothing the matter with her head – she reads and writes well enough for a girl of seven, and her numbers are good. I asked her once why she said so little, and the dear replied, "When I do speak, you listen." It is surprising that someone so young should have worked that out for herself. I could have done with the lesson – I do go on and on from nerves to fill the silence.
I'm listening yet I don't know
If what I hear is silence
Or God.
I'm listening but I can't tell
If I hear the plain of emptiness echoing
Or a keen consciousness that
At the bounds of the universe
Deciphers and watches me.
I only know I walk like someone
Beheld beloved and known
And because of this I put into my every movement
Solemnity and risk.