The Literary Drover No. 4336

The first day of August and sounds of Fall are heard: At dusk the call of geese as they fly overhead, moving from one lake to another for the night. In the Winter, with cold and snow, the water will freeze in many places and the geese will call as they seek shelter on open water.

The Literary Drover No. 3690

As I get older I find I have less interest in Noise and prefer Sound:

Noise: A middle-aged guy in an unfinished detached garage, molesting an electric guitar in a tone-deaf homage to Stevie Ray Vaughn’s “Texas Flood”.

Sound: A light breeze caressing the upper branches of a pine forest before descending into a valley where it repeats its gentle ways with grass dried by summer heat.

Noise: A radio pushed to its limits, distorted as it attempts to be heard over the roar and rumble of a motorcycle engine.

Sound: The sweet song of a male Western Meadowlark.

While doing research for a Jhon Collector Mystery that involved bushwhacking I came to a place where Sound was the norm and I paused to listen to the soundtrack of Nature. When I resumed my journey I did so with a sense of renewal and new focus.