Out on our family farm, silence has taken on a weight I never knew it could have. It isn’t the gentle quiet that falls over freshly plowed fields at dawn or the soft hush after snow blankets the pasture.
This silence presses into every corner of the land, sinking into the soil, curling around the wooden beams of the barns, and lingering long after the sun goes down.
It is heavy. It is unyielding. And it carries the memory of what was lost. My younger…
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