This year I really saw it as a sort of living death. You sometimes feel you walk through apocalyptic zones but there is a certain beauty in austerity. Every time I walked by this tree but one there was a single crow sitting on a branch.
I think of the salt flats in Bolivia which I loved for their silence (if there weren’t three Frenchmen talking).
You will notice the hardy plants which are the last men standing and take strength from these brave soldiers.
On a recent walk on a cool and cloudy prestorm morning I focused on sound in the calm before…
I heard some roofers hammering and one sang “Roxanne”.
A man gave me a hearty “Good morning .”
I heard the pitty pats of runners numerous times with heavy breathing.
There was the rubber to ashphalt sound of cyclists and no other warnings of their approach.
Sounds of chickadees and other unknowns. Ducks flew close overhead flapping their wings in a race against the impending storm.