Noise

I never liked loud noise. As a child I would run inside terrified by the sound of an aeroplane flying overhead, cower under the wrap of my grandmother's thick coat on the rumbling roar of a passing truck. There was always menace in sounds that exceeded a threshold which for me was barely above that of the spoken voice. Even then, crowded spaces chorused in talk would smother and send me into panic. I liked soft sounds that came gentle to the ear. Rainwater whispering in gutters, leaves rustling in a light wind, noises distilled to a murmur when filtered by distance. I liked the volume of being alone. Not much has changed. The loud noises that manage to penetrate an aged ear still raise the heart rate. Crowds still press their panic. Now, at night, I like listening to the stars and clouds nudged by the wake of a passing moon.