I live in a quiet subdivision, just two streets, out in the rural part of the county. On the weekends, while working out in my garden, I often stop for a moment and just listen to my surroundings, noticing how utterly tranquil it is. There is rarely any traffic noise, as I live on a cul-de-sac and the only vehicles going down the road, generally speaking, are those of the residents.
The birds are always singing, right now the Carolina Wrens must be nesting or searching for a site as their loud proclamations of their territory fill the air. It always amazes me that such a tiny bird can make such a loud noise, so loud that I can easily hear them when I am inside the house. The other song that is frequent is that of the White Throated Sparrow, it is such a lilting, merry tune that it always makes me smile. Of course the clown of the bird world, the Mockingbird never fails to make me laugh, with his collection of mimicry, from car alarms to cellphones, as well as excellent representations of other birds.
Occasionally Cueball will go over to the neighbor’s fence and get into a barking war with Greco and Raven, but he will soon tire of it. There is always a lone dog barking somewhere, several houses away. I often wonder what the poor thing is barking at or for. Across the street I could also hear the sound of children’s laughter as they ran around the front lawn with kites in their wake.
A lawnmower will cough into life, ready to give the grass its first haircut of the year, and on some occasions there will be the frustrated cursing of the lawnmower’s owner when it fails to turn over after the fourth or fifth pull. Occasionally there will be a couple of gun shots, generally during hunting season, but those are rare, and being in the rural area that we are, are not to be concerned about. Someone in the area (I cannot fathom exactly where) is a keen do-it-yourselfer because occasionally there will be the whine of a power tool, my guess is a table saw, as the person works diligently on their home.
When you put all the sounds together, it becomes a symphony of sorts, each section of the orchestra playing their part, some more prominent than others. Some, the children’s laughter, are like the flutes, they are heard but just below the surface, while others, like the call of the Mockingbird are the trumpets, constant and unmistakable. I often think that all of us should stop what we are doing, just for a moment, and take the time to listen to the Symphony that surrounds us, listen to the music that is always there, note its highs and lows, the various parts of the orchestra that is part of our daily lives, and acknowledge that the music is all around us, all we have to do is listen.