When silence becomes the loudest truth

Dear Wanderer,

“I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o’er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils…”

Wordsworth saw what solitude truly is — not an absence, but a quiet presence that opens the heart. In aloneness, he found beauty: flowers dancing, clouds drifting, the soul expanding.

Today, I thought of him as I stood before an old windmill. Its blades no longer turn; it has withstood storms, rains, and now rusts slowly with time. Grass and wildflowers keep it company, and sometimes a bird lands, whispering the stories of the skies. Yet, like Wordsworth’s wandering cloud, the windmill is not diminished by its solitude. It is strengthened by it.

So, we must learn to appreciate solitude. Perhaps you think that if you remain silent in life, no one will notice you and you will become a forgotten windmill in the background. On the contrary, silence speaks loudly. It announces your courage and your prudence. Like this windmill, I stand tall, feet anchored in the rock beneath, confronting the wind that blows from every direction — face to face.

As we grow older, we learn this truth. The noise fades: the urgency of crowded nights out, the rush of voices. In their place comes something richer — a quiet evening, a book, a familiar show. Solitude ceases to be frightening. It becomes a companion.

“And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.”

The windmill whispered to me that solitude is not weakness. It calms us, makes us still and unshakable, without fear — and in that profound calm awakens a joy more intimate, more pure.

From the errant to the errant,
D. Orlando