I've been making do with whispers and gestures. I say very little. People answer me with whispers, too. It's a silent world I'm inhabiting, full of cotton batting.
It's a strange time to be voiceless. Here I am with all these stories to tell and no way to tell them. I could, of course, write them down. And the magical-thinking part of me, which was heightened in Africa, says but of course.
Returning home after a long trip abroad is a time to set goals, resolutions. Saying less and writing more is certainly a good one.
So maybe being speechless has a purpose. C'est bon! I feel better already.