That Sound Alone

"shhhhh.....shissssssh" "be quiet"...whispered "Can you hear that?" . . "What is that sound?" Is it far...a faraway train whistle lonesome from song of mainline? Is it the soft ting of the tea kettle cooling on the stove, bending it's metal? "What is that sound?" It is the slow creak of old wooden chairs as mortise and tenon slowly adjust, torqued to a shifting weight. Could be a mantle clock tiptoe ticking away Sunday afternoon. Why don't they make digital clocks tick? Is it that catlike scratch of the Autumn branch gently scraping the window? "What is that sound?" It is the hushed hum of computer fan lulling a digital brain. The Venetian blinds rhythmically tap half-open double-hung windows. The vibrating whir of some electric motor compressing or orbiting the periodic table. Mountains of Quaking Aspen leaves relaxing the winds. When is alone welcome and when is it forlorn? The weight of near silence, light as the dust that floats the sunlit room, or heavy as a cardiac anvil under ancient spreading Chestnut tree. Did the bell toll at the village church, ringing all comers to awake momentarily, or was that just tinnitus? Unable to open eyes, sounds belie surroundings and alone might be fallacy or welcome. Deceptive senses afoot in the stirrup, and hammer tapping anvil might only be a mindful dream. © Goode Guy 2011-06-13