Recently I had a discussion where I mentioned how quiet the front porch was before sunrise on Sunday. It’s so quiet I can hear my ears ringing. Other days of the week there are brief moments like this, and I find myself enjoying the quietness. Today I recognize the fact that it’s not as quiet as I think it is. The bugs are out giving a concert. I didn’t know what they are. They look like fat grasshoppers. I thouht they might be katydids. They might be some other obscure form of life. It turns out they are called cicadas. But they make real noise. It doesn’t get quiet, it just becomes a natural background concert. And as I think back, before the cicadas started giving a concert, the local animals liked to check in too. I could hear donkeys braying across the valley. In normal times I can hear all kinds of other noises made by animals. And then the birds will join in. It’s never really all that quiet. It’s just that the quiet that I experience seems that way. It seems more natural.
I can’t wait for the cicadas to get over their seventeen year cycle of lust and reproduction.
homo unius libri
Wednesday, June 12, 2024
Opus 2024-143: The Quiet That Isn’t
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Comments are welcome. Feel free to agree or disagree but keep it clean, courteous and short. I heard some shorthand on a podcast: TLDR, Too long, didn't read.