The mountains do not speak, and yet no one who has stood before them at dawn returns entirely unchanged. Silence, too, is a language — and the oldest one we know.
We forget this in cities. There is always a small noise nearby to lean against. But silence, given time, will begin to say things we have been avoiding. This is why we run from it, and why, sooner or later, we must return.
To sit with silence is not to do nothing. It is to be done to.