We lived on Capitol Hill in Seattle. For a day or two, Microsoft had told us to stay home. Walking around the neighborhood during those quiet hours was surreal. See, Capitol Hill is below the flight path for at least two airports, and float-planes regularly fly over the hill. In fact, it's not unusual to look up and see a 747 lumbering toward Boeing Field, hanging low enough to see the passengers inside; a 727, slightly higher, on its way to SeaTac; a passel of jets a few thousand feet higher on their way out; a few jets barely more than contrails and a sparkle from the shiny aluminum, headed to Asia or returning; a float-plane's big radial engine grumbling as it barely clears the buildings at the top of the hill; and perhaps a helicopter or two whap-whapping the sky. All at once.
But for a few days, the sky was empty, silent. The absence spoke loudly.