So Much Noise

He began to speak. His voice was soft, and the words were in no tongue she had ever heard. The sound of them came into her heart like rain falling. She grew still to listen. - Ursula K. Le Guin, The Tombs of Atuan

Some days, all the little sounds chafe and grate:  the leaf-blower in a neighbor's yard; the squeak of the chair, the rattle of something in the car, the ka-klonk of the washing machine switching gears. The protective barking of Tiny Dog, so shrill.  Traffic. Ticking of clocks.  Hum of the oven fan.  The mundane eating noises:  chewing, swallowing, slurping, gulping -- those are the worst, an unintended unpleasant unpleasant noise like nails on the chalkboard of the eardrum.  Shudder.

We would love to hear solely the subtler sounds of nature - a light rain, birds in the trees, murmur of a brook.   And quiet voices, not asking questions, not needing answers, but instead, providing thoughts and stories like a warm soothing blanket of words.  We could just listen.  That would be lovely. 

His voice was cloves and nightingales, it took us to spice markets in the Celebs, we drifted with him on a houseboat beyond the Coral Sea. We were like cobras following a reed flute. - Janet Fitch, White Oleander

Photograph copyright 2012, 2014, Mediocria Firma. Used with gratitude.