The morning silence.
Stop. Lean into it.
Do you hear the birds?
Sparrows and doves and wrens crooning
Into the crisp sunrise.
The noise of wind chimes hanging off the frame of the hoop house.
The breeze caresses the cool metal, wrapping around it
Swirling through the most intimate spaces between perfectly tuned chimes.
Try feeding the animals:
Pigs squeal, cats meow, dogs bark, cattle moo
Onamonapias don’t begin to cut it.
The noise crowds every part of your brain.
Overwhelms the senses.
Loud and immediate and enveloping and sensational.
Listen to the wheelbarrow rolling down a hill.
The constancy of the bumping of the wheel against the dirt
Rubber giving to hard earth on one side and rough rusty steel on the other.
Again and again they clash down the hill and collide into each other.
Drip lines leaking,
Hissing water into deep puddles
So the earth is rich around the leak
The water arcs powerfully away from the drip tape.
A continuous shaking, hissing noise.
The air and water and friction and continuous strength and pressure
To make ess sounds.
Grass rubbing against itsself:
The correct verb is to rustle
Or perhaps the noun susurrus.
So many thin fingertip touches
Mounting into a great whisper.
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