I was writing an account today of an experience I had back in 2001, which highlighted my appreciation of the gift of hearing, being able to hear voices - music - and so much more. Rather than just being grateful for the ability to hear, I thought that it would be more meaningful for me to mention some of my favourite sounds, without which my life would be less rich than it is.
The varieties of birdsong. How often I've thrilled to the song of a tree sparrow in the spring! or mourning doves as they bill and coo to each other atop our eaves. Hearing the plaintive calls of the Canada Goose in the spring and the fall, earliest harbingers of spring and winter for me, leads me to look to the skies to see if I can pick out the V-formation against the clouds. I hope not many will fall from the sky to grace some hunter's table and that if they must, that their demise will be swift. My heart has leaped to the roller-coaster melody of the meadowlark, the high trill of a canary in full-throated, joyous song, and even the screech of the blue-jay in mid-winter.
The laughter of my children. I can be having a pretty awful day and hear them bantering back and forth, giggling at some inside joke (okay, part of me hopes I'm not the subject matter!) and I can't help but smile - at least a little.
My hubby's voice. Whether he calls me on the phone or just calls out to me when he comes into the house, I love the sound of his voice...the closer the better. I even like to hear him snore; there was a time when I thought I had lost him for good, and ever since then, I smile when he saws logs or does other things that used to annoy me. My favourite time of all is when I nestle my ear against his chest and stay there - just to hear his baritone voice in normal conversation. And when he sings while I'm there, I just melt inside.
Music. This is such a part of my life that I can't imagine being without it. It is both an outlet and a source of strength for me. I almost always have a song running around in my head - usually something I've heard at church - but sometimes (it's the oddest thing) I will find myself humming a tune I haven't heard in years, only to find out (once I realize what song it is) that I needed to hear the message contained in the lyrics to that particular song, on that particular day. It's like God uses music as a vehicle to get my attention and tell me something. Weird - and wonderful. And it happens quite frequently!
The sound of rain hitting the windows. In the evening, that spattering noise (especially if coming in gusts of wind) makes me drowsy. Every time. Perhaps it's the knowledge that I'm safe and warm while the world outside is anything but that.
The sound of horses whickering to each other. I've loved horses since I was six and saw one for the first time. Their quiet grace in spite of their size, and their love of being with each other (or even with another animal of a different species) just for the sake of the company, really whispers into my spirit and gives me a sense of calm, as if all is right and as it should be. I'm one of those who believes that animals and humans could once understand each other. I've even been known to watch "Mantracker" on TV and listen to the horses that Mantracker and his sidekick are riding, as they make little sounds: the half-snort, the scenting the air, the little harumphs they say when they hear something and don't know what it is exactly. I like the hoofbeats when they canter toward the people who are trying to evade the trackers. It scratches an emotional itch for me.
The sizzle of steak charbroiling. Need I say more?
The sound you hear in the cinema just before the movie trailers start - it's called the "THX Deep Note": the most recognizable piece of computer-generated art in the world. I can be doing something else and that sound comes on a DVD and I'm instantly mesmerized - all movement stops and I close my eyes and let it soak into my psyche. I love that ten seconds of bliss!
The sound of the house when everyone is safe inside, and in bed asleep. I can hear my hubby breathing (or snoring softly); if I go to the living room (which I do when I have insomnia in the middle of the night) I can hear the faint ticking of the clock, and the furnace and/or sump pump kicking in and turning off. And the sound of my own typing - because I usually blog when I can't sleep. It's all so peaceful.
The faint tumbling and grating of the key in the lock, and the muted click of the bolt retreating into its sheath, when we come back home from a stressful all-day or all-weekend trip - returning from being away from the familiarity of our own kitchen, our own bedrooms. There is something soothing about knowing that we are where we belong.
The varieties of birdsong. How often I've thrilled to the song of a tree sparrow in the spring! or mourning doves as they bill and coo to each other atop our eaves. Hearing the plaintive calls of the Canada Goose in the spring and the fall, earliest harbingers of spring and winter for me, leads me to look to the skies to see if I can pick out the V-formation against the clouds. I hope not many will fall from the sky to grace some hunter's table and that if they must, that their demise will be swift. My heart has leaped to the roller-coaster melody of the meadowlark, the high trill of a canary in full-throated, joyous song, and even the screech of the blue-jay in mid-winter.
The laughter of my children. I can be having a pretty awful day and hear them bantering back and forth, giggling at some inside joke (okay, part of me hopes I'm not the subject matter!) and I can't help but smile - at least a little.
My hubby's voice. Whether he calls me on the phone or just calls out to me when he comes into the house, I love the sound of his voice...the closer the better. I even like to hear him snore; there was a time when I thought I had lost him for good, and ever since then, I smile when he saws logs or does other things that used to annoy me. My favourite time of all is when I nestle my ear against his chest and stay there - just to hear his baritone voice in normal conversation. And when he sings while I'm there, I just melt inside.
The sound of rain hitting the windows. In the evening, that spattering noise (especially if coming in gusts of wind) makes me drowsy. Every time. Perhaps it's the knowledge that I'm safe and warm while the world outside is anything but that.
The sound of horses whickering to each other. I've loved horses since I was six and saw one for the first time. Their quiet grace in spite of their size, and their love of being with each other (or even with another animal of a different species) just for the sake of the company, really whispers into my spirit and gives me a sense of calm, as if all is right and as it should be. I'm one of those who believes that animals and humans could once understand each other. I've even been known to watch "Mantracker" on TV and listen to the horses that Mantracker and his sidekick are riding, as they make little sounds: the half-snort, the scenting the air, the little harumphs they say when they hear something and don't know what it is exactly. I like the hoofbeats when they canter toward the people who are trying to evade the trackers. It scratches an emotional itch for me.
The sizzle of steak charbroiling. Need I say more?
The sound you hear in the cinema just before the movie trailers start - it's called the "THX Deep Note": the most recognizable piece of computer-generated art in the world. I can be doing something else and that sound comes on a DVD and I'm instantly mesmerized - all movement stops and I close my eyes and let it soak into my psyche. I love that ten seconds of bliss!
The sound of the house when everyone is safe inside, and in bed asleep. I can hear my hubby breathing (or snoring softly); if I go to the living room (which I do when I have insomnia in the middle of the night) I can hear the faint ticking of the clock, and the furnace and/or sump pump kicking in and turning off. And the sound of my own typing - because I usually blog when I can't sleep. It's all so peaceful.
The faint tumbling and grating of the key in the lock, and the muted click of the bolt retreating into its sheath, when we come back home from a stressful all-day or all-weekend trip - returning from being away from the familiarity of our own kitchen, our own bedrooms. There is something soothing about knowing that we are where we belong.
No comments:
Post a Comment