Sounds

The sound of crows, lazy at times, frantic at other times, calling from above the garden, flocked in the maple trees as I garden. When I was a child, the crows sat in the pines outside my window. To me there gulk gulk gulk sound was soothing. And still, it makes me laugh. Here I'm awakened by the sound of gulls, loud cries coming early in the morning, and the terns, which have a scratchy screechy cry, settling in over the water.

In the city and the country, there is the sound of the train whistle. Here in Fairhaven, the train, not far down the road wails musically, reflecting off the water in waves at times, and at other times it is forceful and obnoxious. I can stand in the garden and hear not only the whistle, but the rumble of the cars on the tracks. My first husband loved the train. He said everyone should ride the train because eventually folks won't be able to. Trains will go by the wayside. This isn't true, of course, as we can see more folks are riding the train than ever. He rode the train with his father across the U.S. from Spokane to New York. His father was a buyer for a department store. The rocking, the rumble, the whistle, the train-crossing bells, sleeping in the berths with all this going on, things he reminisced fondly of.

I picked up Walden this morning and opened the old copy to a highlighted section, the chapter title Sounds. Thoreau says "The whistle of the locomotive penetrates my woods summer and winter, sounding like the scream of a hawk sailing over some farmer's yard, informing me that many restless city merchants are arriving within the circle of the town, or adventurous country traders from the other side….Here come your groceries, country, your rations, countryman!"

I don't think of the train as moving goods, although the freight trains do, I think of it as a loud noise that wakes me in the night. But Henry is right, it is commerce at work. Noisy commerce. And when the train whistle comes in the night, the gulls and terns lift off, squawking. They are awakened too, and then they riot with discontent.

Well, this morning, a fall cold has me down in bed. There will be no gardening today, not much of anything in fact. Reading in bed, drinking tea, listening to the sounds of the village, sleeping. It is all good, this life.

Peace! Flower