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.
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