Growing up in Florida, I learned the sounds of perpetual paradise. Palm trees rustling. Traffic moving. People coming and going. The steady hum of somewhere to be and something to do. The seasons changed, but rarely enough to interrupt the rhythm. Don’t get me wrong, hurricane season could bring everything to a halt. But fall didn’t necessarily mean changing leaves, and the palm trees stayed green. Winter might bring a cooler breeze, but the traffic, the people, the busyness remained. Then, ten months ago, I moved to Pennsylvania. And I found a silence I had never experienced. A quiet made...