After writing roughly ten serious emails today, I’m just going with a list of free associations, like it or back button, I suppose.
Sounds I love:
Summer thunder, late afternoon. That’s a northeast thing mostly. Hot blank sky gives way to black, it’s suddenly chilly and still. Suspended. Then, thunder.
Out west my favorite sounds are also elemental: broken up wood in the fireplace burning through, clacking river rocks together, owl calls.
Water rolling down the tiny wooden fountain by the sink in our apartment. Hoping for a garden with a pond someday.
Cliché the moment I think it: “ocean waves.” I can’t deny I love their sound, and a day of lying on a beach listening to the rolling, the calming; well, that’s a good day. I don’t remember the last day like that.
Another cliché: coffee starting up, rustling around deep in the big machine. We have a fancy joint espresso/coffee pot from Krups by way of Craig’s list that makes all sorts of uppity drinks but still spills all over the counter every fucking time you pour a cup of coffee. And yet, measuring out and pouring in the ground up coffee, running cold water, stepping back and a certain immeasurable length of time later, hearing the pot wake up, the first perks drip down: it’s part of the rhythm. The first honest house sound of the day.
The sound Prince Hotspur makes when I roll him over on the bed. Surprised and indignant, from deep in his disheveled orange chest. A note from an unapologetic bed-hog.
Crows cawing across a road, a ditch, an open field. I love to hear my totem’s voice, especially when a solitary call startles me out of some low thoughts. I immediately look out the window, try to find the sharp and slick profile sounding off, reminding.