The Sounds of Silence...

Here's just a tiny bit from some of today's writings. I hope you enjoy it.

..."But the pond did sidetrack me. I found the observation deck that Susie has built out there and just sat for a while counting turtles. I heard them before I saw them, which actually means that they heard me before they saw me and made the mad dash from basking on the bank to the security of the murky water. So I sat there counting as tiny heads popped up. Sometimes, when the wind would die down somewhat, and the water became a bit more still, I could even see their little bodies suspended just beneath the surface. Then, they’d quickly drop out of sight only to pop up a few or not so few yards away.

It became a bit of a game for me: how many turtles could I count at one time? I think the most I counted at once was 9. Or was it 10? It’s hard to know. I’m sure it’s tough to get an accurate count of how many there really are. I suppose the count changes often, too. What’s the mortality rate of turtles in a farm pond, anyway?

Well, I just came outside to type for a while, but don’t know how long this will last. I have plenty of battery life (thanks to two batteries), but the screen is pretty dark out here. I just tried brightening it a bit, but can’t see any difference. I guess when I’m ready to go back inside I’ll go back inside. (Call me Captain Obvious.)

But sitting outside there is so much to be heard. There are so many different birds, none of which I can identify by call and only a few I can identify by sight. The hum of grasshoppers as they jump around from place to place and the whir of the cicadas, while not as loud and pronounced as in the evening, are still a constant. I hear a horsefly from somewhere to my right and it brings back memories of being in Maine as a child. I listen to the wind as it whisks through the bushes and tall grasses, rattling them with different intensities.

The air conditioner cycles off and it grows even quieter. Somehow, the clack, clack, clack of typing seems blasphemous right now. So I stop. For just a few moments. I hear chickens somewhere in the distance. No roosters, just chickens, which is odd to me since my new normal usually contains the sounds of roosters, day and night.

My journey into writing outside is brought to a screeching halt by ill-timed raindrops. It’s not raining hard, really just a tiny mist, but enough to head inside to protect my laptop. If only I had a ToughBook… I’ll wait a few minutes and see if I can venture back out."