An erie stillness

At 4 pm Friday afternoon, April 24, 2020, my wife came to me to draw my attention to the outdoors. I'd been working at my computer, oblivious to my surroundings. 

What she pointed out was unusual. I stopped working. She was right. Something was up. But what?

Outdoors, there was heavy cloud cover all around us. Nothing particularly unusual about that. This week still is, basically,  just two weeks after winter had officially ended--still a time for the occasional rain to show up. But what was unusual today was how still the air was. 

Outside, it wasn't hot or humid. It was just that the air was so still. That seemed unusual.

It was eerily quiet. We live in the desert. But because we live in a city of some 48,000, we don't often experience a typical desert silence. In Israel, we are in a mid-size city. We live in neighborhoods seemingly alive with sounds--of people, cars, buses, trucks--and birds. It's quiet here.But not this silent.

Despite the fact that we are literally surrounded by a broad, dry, sandy desert, our city has been built almost to 'oasis standards'. Our city fathers have for years planted masses of flower-beds each year all around the  city. They've also planted hundreds, if not thousands, of trees. Our city becomes quite beautiful this time of year. 

Naturally, all of the flora around us attracts birds and insects. Lots of them--a good thing for a desert environment. 

We see lots of birds, especially in those older neighborhoods like mine, where green growth is taller and more mature. With so much green, we commonly see lots of birds--and hear their songs, many of them unusual (to us). We love listening to them.

But not this afternoon. Now, as I type again at my computer, there is complete silence. It's eerie. There are no birds singing---nothing.

Back in the USA, such a stillness on a very cloudy day would suggest a heavy storm on the way. But here, in the desert of Israel? I don't remember such stillness.

We've had heavy rainstorms here before. I just don't remember such silence before those storms.  Does this silence now portend anything? 

We wait.

Shabbat shalom.