The humming and hissing and crackling of a shifted station, whether jostled from its position by a loose dial or lumbering steps of the person pacing in it's proximity, is inescapable. No one reaches up to finesse the tuning. They seem complacent in listening to static, a comfortable nothing that refuses to erase the most serious of thought with glib commonplace chatter.
I step outside, and am surrounded with the white noise of wheels casting the morning shower's splatters mournfully turn by turn. Autumn's grey skies promise no end in sight, and the blades of the first frost are gleefully bidding farewell to our summer sun.
A maudlin Monday. The power to re-wind and re-play happening only within the imagination's fancy, where we can bear the static just to hear the same song again.
True words.
3 years ago
3 comments:
Nice
I'm hearing the distant sounds of children playing. It's such an uplifting sound. The cheerfulness, optimism and hope that the sound conveys truly transforms me to my better self.
Was a saddened day, with news of good people that had passed on. Mondays seem to be like that here sometimes with the local media often invisible for the weekend. Not that word of mouth doesn't travel at a speedier pace... just a bit of a shock when you've avoided the world on your days off and then get splashed right into it.
Too true.
Post a Comment