Why is it so quiet here?

Is it because the mountains are too large for noise?

Because the valleys have so much space between them that voices cannot cross?

From our windows we can see two of them,
green slopes falling away into green slopes,
mountains bright under the Apennine sky.

Why does nobody seem to be here?

We meet each other instead.
New names,
new faces,
new voices filling the space.

But outside - nothing.
Nothing but the wind bustling through the trees.

Why does it feel as though the roads are waiting?
Why does it feels as though the buildings are listening?
Why does such a beautiful place feel as though something is missing?

Perhaps this is simply how mountains live.
Slowly.
Quietly.
Without needing the hurry of the world beyond them.

Perhaps the green is enough.
Perhaps the valleys have always been this empty.

But then-

Why does the silence feel like an answer?

And why, amongst all this green, do I keep noticing the priest on his bicycle?