Porthole

The sound of one hand clapping

30DBC: "Other than music, what sounds do you love?"

SILENCE

I don't put music or the radio or anything on when I'm home. I live in an urban area with few birds. Many of the river birds don't chatter much. It's not like Kansas with the meadowlark and blackbirds or Oklahoma with a gazillion bird-songs emanating from trees and bushes and creeks where the spring-peepers should soon be voicing their opinions.

I like the sift and hush of a heavy snow.

This evening it snowed, but I stayed inside.

I do like wind chimes, wind in the corn or wheat, rain on a tin roof, distant hush of traffic, zanates cackling in the trees at sunset, drip of an icicle, rustle of autumn leaves, soft chatter in a cafe, hiss of the espresso machine. As a child I loved the whistle of a steam engine.

Anything that is harsh, close behind me, startling ... no.

The only sound I wish to hear now is the ringing of bells when Our Dear Leader acknowledges (or not) his incompetency and resigns.

It would be sweet music to my ears.

Until then ... the sound of one hand clapping may be as good as it gets.

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