Fogo Island Quiet

Preternatural: Beyond what is normal.

Quiet is rarely that. There’s always some kind of noise.

The low hum of traffic. A closing door. Wind through trees.

But Fogo Island Quiet is different.

It’s the utter absence of sound.

Swallowed up by the deep North Atlantic? Maybe.

Lost out across the ice? Could be. 

Sounds fight against it, and lose to the expanse.

All that’s left is you, your thoughts, and an enveloping silence.

Unlike any other, this place, this rock that speaks to you silently. 

This ocean pulls you out of yourself and into the here and the now.

This sky pulls your thoughts to the rest of the world because nothing stands between you and those places when you’re standing at the edge of the coast.

Fogo Island Quiet is a different kind of quiet in winter. 

No leaves for the wind to blow through. No traffic to keep up the din. No idle summer chatter.

It’s a time you go to find yourself.
It’s the contrast that counts: A brisk fresh walk over white blanketed rocks. The air, fresher in winter; pristine.

Then the fire at the end of the day: The subtle sting of cheeks warming up with something warm in a cup.

The huddled hazy conversation around the fire.

A bit of music and food.

And, later, drifting off to sleep under warm blankets in a cool room.

Fogo Island in winter is different because it’s not where you’d first think to go. But that’s why you do it.

It’s not a break, it’s a way to reframe the world.

It’s not a trip, it’s a life reset.

It’s not quiet, it’s Fogo Island Quiet.

Posted by: Brimstone