Noisy World

"...It was a trick / to turn around once and know you were lost; / knowing the crow's horn was crying in the dark, / knowing that summer would never come..."

From "Kind Sir: These Woods", by Anne Sexton

I used to volunteer for a charity that supported folks who were blind.  My job was to make recordings of books and other texts.  The receptionist at the charity, a wonderful woman, was blind herself.  Whenever I arrived, I would announce who I was (this is etiquette when speaking to someone who is blind) and we'd chat for a while.  Then one day, she said, "Hello Sue," without my saying a word.  She laughed - had sensed my surprise.  "I knew it was you," she told me.  "It's the way you walk through the door.  Your footsteps are distinctive."  

I was thinking about this yesterday when I went into town.  Usually, particularly if I'm rushing, I put in my earbuds and listen to my music, but as I stood waiting for the train I realised I'd forgotten to do so.  Rather than reaching for my ipod, I listened - really listened - to what was around me.  It was stormy at the time and I was holding my umbrella: the wind slashed the rain and the sound was like applause.  Cars swished by me.  In the distance, someone yelled.  The sky whispered and moaned.

Don't get me wrong.  I love my music.  It lifts me, touches me, helps me move forward.  But this world is full of such loud or subtle noises and, as writers, we need to notice these.  How evocative is Anne Sexton's use of "the crow's horn" above!  Instantly, we know that sound, can connect with the loneliness.  And believe me, since the moment when I was told my footsteps had a certain sound, I've listened for it now and then, but no - I can't hear it.  

Not yet.

Happy Thanksgiving to you all!