Tonight it rained.
Lightly, in slow, large and chilly drops across an eager, growing landscape.
The dogs and I sat on the screened front porch. They fell asleep.
I listened to the wind on the leaves. A distant train whistle. A lonely mockingbird. My own breath, which slowed and sloughed to the movement of the trees.
I quit thinking, and enjoyed the moisture-laden, cooler air on my body, my face. Listened to slow, redolent drops of rain fall from twilight skies. Listened again to almost quiet thunder, responding to low-wattage lightning, interrupted now and then with a sound like a distant avalanche.
The smells of wet earth, blooming flowers, life all around us is a part.
The daytime sight in my hours' old memory of everything just planted, the roses, the blowing trees, the sleeping dogs...
I could enjoy this immensely with the addition of my music on reserve, weaving throughout all the sounds and other senses.
That makes sense. To have the beauty of the sound and be aware of your surroundings, not out of fear, but out of joy.
But you youngers. You choose Mc-3 players--do I say it right-- where you plug in and hear nothing else but your music.
Tonight would have been great for Tchaikovsky, Willie Nelson, blues, rock. Anything. But you youngers.
You don't want the trash of outside noise.
I don't hardly know what you are talking about. I'm not sure you can get to the soul without the surroundings.
I love my music, the art of it. But I would not love it nearly so well except for the life and heart of it. I have to hear it in my life, not purified in my head.
I don't know. Maybe you are more complicated. I think it would be good if you took a while,now and then, and chilled, on a porch, thinking nothing, speaking to no one, and just listened.