sounds

Sitting on the back porch this morning, I noticed that there are underlying sounds here, if you listen. The creek is still, generally. It’s deep enough, wide enough that there isn’t a “running water” sound, unless it’s in flood. But if there’s been dew, it sounds like rain, as it falls from the leaves of the two massive oaks in the yard. Then there’s the “plink” of an acorn on the metal porch roof. Soon, the profusion of acorns will sound like hail.

The Canada geese have been calling for the past couple of weeks, in anticipation of their coming departure. I wonder where they winter, if they come to Virginia for the summer. Their ranks should be filled, as I saw two broods last spring, a total of ten babies. The cattle have been all but invisible through the summer, what with the profusion of growth on the creek edges. I’ll catch glimpses of moving shadows on the water and hear the occasional lowing or hysterical bellowing.

In a month or so, I’ll refill the bird feeders. What with all the rain we’ve had this year, I didn’t think the birds needed supplemental seeds, but as the feeders were outside my bedroom window, I haven’t had a symphony to greet me each morning. Next year, I’ll fill them, as I’ve missed the general chatter as I open my eyes. First thing in the morning, the wild turkeys are active, too. I may not see them, but their talking among themselves on the ridges is evident. Occasionally, a family will cross the road, taking a low trajectory if startled. A mainstay of this country life is crows. It’s rare, if they aren’t announcing what seems to be imminent danger.

Now that the camp is closed for the season, I hear little or no traffic. That will continue until next spring. If I hear a vehicle, it’s someone I know. The cats and I have become used to the small sounds; the sound of a car or truck seems large.