October 14, 2015
(If we live with an open and grateful attitude, every
day will bring a gift. This is one of 365 gifts during the year I turned 70.)
Somewhere
in the trees above me, I hear a woodpecker. I stop and search, especially in
the dead limbs, but cannot find the bird. It is the taptaptapping that reminds
me I’ve not heard the usual bird sounds on my walk in the park today. It is
probably a sign that some species have begun a journey to warmer climates, even
though it is not yet cold here.
I
walk frequently in the park but today I begin to notice changes in sounds
around me. Not only are many of the bird conversations missing but there are no
more cicada choruses and the crickets seem to have lost some of their singing
partners. One has retreated to inside my house, in anticipation of lowering
temperatures. Instead of the usual plethora of creature sounds, now I notice a
bombardment of acorns. At my house, thousands of tiny acorns rain on the roof
like marbles, and crunch and roll under my shoes. At the park, giant acorns
bombard the ground, as if invisible ghosts are taking target practice. The
sound I love best in autumn is the crinkling of brittle brown leaves under my
feet with each footstep.
As
sounds alter in nature with the seasons sliding one into another, the sounds in
my body also change with time. This morning with pain in my left knee, the rhythm of my
footsteps becomes uneven. When I stoop down to pick up and examine a variegated
red and yellow leaf, my bones crack on the way back up. My breathing is not as
soft as it once was as I catch my breath.
In
spite of shifting sounds, some welcome and some not, I find joy that I am able
to hear and discern both the obvious and the subtle.
My
gift today is hearing the changes.
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