Weekend mornings are the best for dog walking. I mean real morning. Before the sun is up. It's the quietest around here then. Late at night there tends to still be traffic. Big city, you know. But from maybe 3 AM until 6 AM on Saturday or Sunday the world around here is at rest. And quiet for once. It's especially quiet now because there are no birds. No insects. No "wild" life to break the stillness. But in the spring I'm guessing and hoping that the animal sounds will be back in force.
Not like the spring peepers in Pennsylvania mind you. In the spring near Tamarack Lake the chorus from the spring peepers could be deafening. Literally. An amazing sound. There aren't too many of those around here that I've heard. Sounds that are amazing.
Once in awhile since we live near water the lonely sound of a Canada Goose breaks through the traffic din. But you have to listen hard. And listening wasn't meant to be hard I don't think. You need the silence surrounding the sound to make the sound real and special and holy. Not much of that silence here. Not much holy sound. Just for a few hours each week. On Saturday and Sunday mornings.
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About Me
- Mark Gorman
- I was born in Williamsport, Pennsylvania, along the banks of the Susquehanna River, in the valley made up by Bald Eagle Mountain to the south, and gentle hills and valleys to the north. That place that sheltered me, gave me food and friends, and both physical and spiritual nourishment for 18 years. That is the space where I was physically and emotionally formed. Ever since growing up there . . . because of growing up there . . . I have been inexorably linked to nature . . . to the earth and to all life.