Chirrup chorus at night. What are they called, anyway? Crickets?
Danish voices, low, from a balcony without lights, only candles.
Crunch, crunch, flip flops navigating through the dark.
Light? The moon. She’s full.
Engines roll, growling, low.
Hammer, hammer, hammer! Will the power come back on?
A troupe of children laughing, or wait… is that one woman?
Again the motor rolls, it rolls, it rolls.
Chirp, chirp, chirp, chirp. He expresses himself from the trees.
Advertisements
How different the night sounds are here – first last hail (loud, clattering), then the silence of snow (thank God, just a tiny bit). Then, this morning the humming roar of 520 as I drove to work. I’d trade noises any day!