Sounds of My World

Look closely, this rock angel guards the exit of from Roanoke over Catawba Mountain. I have no idea why she sits there, but I feel comforted that she is watching over me as I pass below in my car along Route 311.

Sunrise

Sunrise

Evening quiet

The quiet is loud here. Gunfire erupts off in the woods behind the simple country house. A lonely truck takes a relaxing journey down the narrow road. Day birds are singing songs of farewell to the sun. Robins chirp.

Hummingbirds fight over the feeder before the night swallows it all. Off in the distance in the sky a plane ferries someone somewhere. Its sound trail lingers. The morning mist gave way long ago to cotton clouds, and now they die slowly away bathed in evening orange.

The mountain ridge before me darkens, casting its undulating silhouette against the orange glow sky. The chickens have gone to bed, tired from giving eggs and scratching earth. A jet cuts through the darkening sky.

The dead red riding mower looks more and more able as the deepening evening masks its tiredness. Orange contrails light the deep blue sky. A gentle creek rustles its way to somewhere; perhaps eventually that water will make it to the Gulf. Perhaps some child will capture it. Maybe someone or something will drink it.

A dog barks at the advance of night. More guns. Brown ears of an antler-less deer perk up from a pine stand in front of me. Its sudden movement destroys its perfect camouflage. Then it lowers its head a resumes munching on tasty treats. The breeze is unsettled, but unhurried. Crows echo to each other across the narrow valley floor, their calls die away as they move on. The white mailbox stands solitary sentry duty by the drive. The saw-whet owl moves out onto an upper tree limb and stares into the grasses looking for mice, moles, and voles. Venus takes to the sky shaking the sun’s grip on the world.

The quiet is loud here. The day doesn’t willingly give way. The quiet grows silent, only the creek and the night shift stay awake.