What makes silence so precious is that it is unconcerned with time yet not outside of it. Silence changes our perception of time. Sound doesn't become silence, and silence doesn't end with sound. There is no before and no after.

Writing is like the clouds, telling us stories through words on a page or foretelling future weather. The stories the clouds tell morph and change in every moment. The moment not concerned with how the clouds were just a moment ago to how they'll be in the next. Thinking about the convergence between writing, silence, and clouds shows us something about the mind.

The veil of silence is so thin, and entry is easy. That's the magic. Writing is ephemeral. Be unconcerned with the flow of time.

Clouds rising out of the
mountain, streams entering the valley
without a sound.

Taken from One Blade of Grass by Henry Shukman p. 313