they've been trimming the sycamores that line our street. I got nothing against tree-trimming - being married to a gardener, I know that's how you keep plants, bushes and trees happy - but between the chainsaws and the giant wood-chipper, the noise level was almost comical. (I said "almost.")
And rather than becoming less piercing and present as time wore on, the racket actually seemed to resonate more painfully, as if the bones of my skull and jaws were vibrating in horrible harmony with the machines.
And then - they finished. They drove off. And now I can hear the little sounds of the house - the ticking of my office clock, the distant whoosh of the furnace as the heat kicks on. My heart begins to slow down a bit.
Wish I wasn't so easily distracted, but I prefer to describe it as being inherently interested in my surroundings. Yeah, that's the ticket!
No comments:
Post a Comment