The Bee Hive rises above Sand Beach on the Acadian coast, and on this morning several years ago, I made my way to the top. The morning sun, rising from sea level, illuminates these westerly slopes quickly, and at this early hour I had the place to myself for quite a while. Some silence leaves me weary: an unanswered question that sadly lingers. It can be a weight not easily carried. But this was a silence sought, a more comforting lack of noise that stops you in your tracks, as if you are intruding. It is broken occasionally by the creak of a bird's wings passing overhead, or the slight white noise of barely moving air, and as the light grows the color intensifies into a sound of its own. I break the quiet, and move on.