Wise tree

If silence was a card, the note on the windowsill read, it would be the joker, for it is like a blank page, always deriving its meaning from the context.

The problem with silences, thought the old crow sitting on a tree branch across the window, is that they always seem to have at least two meanings: One is bestowed upon them by those who remain silent, another one by whomever vainly attempts to interpret or, even worse, to break the silence.

The wind carried the note away, the crow moved on, she whom the words were meant for woke up to an emty windowsill and he who wrote them was long gone. As for the tree, it had always favoured silence, anyway.