My Time
Something’s wrong. It’s too quiet. I look around. Most of the boxes are unpacked — artwork is up, rugs are unfurled, furniture is arranged — and rearranged. Still, something’s missing. Later in the week, I spy the sealed box tucked in a corner of the back room. Inside is Tom’s wall clock. It remained there because I contemplated having it find another home — it’s old-fashioned-looking, heavy to lift, to pack, and to mount. Furthermore, with every move, I remind myself to downsize. And yet…
I carefully pull out the blankets cushioning the wood and glass frame; the mechanisms quiver and I see an old friend. For over thirty years, the Westminster chimes and the pendulum’s tick tock, tick tock, tick tock, tick tock have written a soundtrack in my life. Without those familiar vibrations in the house, the silence is void. With them, I feel H Om e. The wrong has been righted; I’m keeping the clock. Matter of fact, I’m thinking of going clock crazy. I’m now infatuated with antique clocks whose quarter hour chimes and swinging pendulums move time to their unique rhythms. Some old ladies fill their houses with cats or hamsters or something batty; mine just may be clocks. Pendulum pandemonium! Or… a Space with chimes of Time.
Oh, I do recall…
Calliope plays
New Orleans
Hear the train
Sea the surf
A distant train whistles to me in my childhood bedroom and the chick chook, chick chook, chick chook on the tracks say, “Good night, Good night, Good night…”.
From our apartment in the French Quarter and heard for miles, the Riverboat Natchez’ calliope steam organ heralds a new morning, every bless-ed morning.
Floating through our windows on the Pacific coast, the continuous ‘ssshhhhhh’ of the Pacific surf comforts like a lullaby.
Presently, I hear the haunting, alluring sound a foghorn blowing across Morro Bay.
Soundtracks permeate the soul, becoming part of us. For our ever.
What sounds track your life?
“Around the axis we all spin
To determine what’s left out and what’s left in…
The moments come and go like water
I try to hold them but they’re fading
Oh my head sounds like that”
— Peter Gabriel, “My Head Sounds Like That”
Love the clock Heidi, so glad you made the effort in moving it and mounting it…it is beautiful. I have lived here in rural America for 15 years – and the only sounds I hear is that of the birds chirping and the sound of Owls. Great horned owls are especially known for their hooting sound, which involves two short, deep “hoo” sounds followed by a long “hooooooo.” These owl noises are usually territorial and can be heard for several miles. In the spring I hear the sound of frogs croaking at night…it is a free concert from God’s nature. Listen and Silent share the same letters.
Please email me your new address – Peace and Love Heidi!
Joanna!
As always Jo, thank you for commenting; I appreciate you. Have you tried hooting back?! One late evening from my balcony in Cambria, I heard a melodic hooting sound. I tried to mimic the pitch and hooted a response. I swear to you Jo, we hooted (not hollered) back and forth for a few minutes! I’d like to think we were communicating – on some level. Silent and listen…thank you for the beautiful reminder. peace.