The change sent me back to my notes from a couple of days ago, gathered in the contrast-space between the company of the visiting friend, departed, and the me left to my surroundings again—the re-finding that any solitary person goes through in the transition from company to none.
This is the picture I thought I’d paint for you today. An inventory of sound, the unexpected reflection of where I am; a part of the what that makes me what I am. Seemed a right thing to remember on a day like this one.
From my seat with the view of the river, serenity is quiet. But not silent.
I hear the last of the season’s insects, a high, brittle song that will fall ominously still as the temperature falls.
I hear the chatter of a complaining bird, unhappy about something. A flutter of wings.
I hear the wind ruffling the trees; hear it trailing along the hollows of the hills.
The leaves as they touch earth; the crisp, brittle sound as the breeze tumbles them.
A hickory nut bouncing down the roofline.
The muffled bark of a distant dog.
The sleeping cat snuffling at my knee.
The settling of a beam, deep within a wall.
The dignified tick of the hall-clock’s pendulum.
The single deep, singing note from the front wind chime, touched by a breeze from a new direction.
Crows. A white-throated sparrow trilling “Oh Canada”.
The ripple of the river, muted. A splash in the river.
And the sound of my breathing, of my fingers on the keys. The sound of a woman smiling.
All there is. All there needs to be.