Season’s Sound

I sat outside this afternoon, in the quiet of the day... to listen and to watch. The cat was patiently perched next to me at my feet. The wind blew in light breaths around us. Luke, ever alert, watched the free-dance of the paper thin leaves of the birch trees I planted a dozen years ago as they tumbled to the ground… his ears scrolling in every direction to catch the sounds within his fiefdom. Our female cat Toonces lay in sleeping silence under the lazy branches of an azalea bush.

The crispy chatter of the leaves caught my attention as they pinballed through the wiry branches high above. They made their way to the ground with no conscious… no hurry or effort. The colors are the colors of early fall. I search for the reds of my memory, but the falling birch leaves are like peacocks of yellow and brown… the reds elude them. They vary from yellow to gold and brown… the brown of the earth and the brown of young chocolate.

The wind is happier in the fall. It moves with purpose. It collects the energy from the earth and fills the empty spaces between branches. Our lacy leaves become nature’s music. The squirrels trot behind us with mouthfuls of dried leaves. They scurry in bursts to their nest-making high in the treetops, squawking as they go.

Small birds bathe in the loose leaves like in the first rain puddles of the early spring. They bounce in groups of two or three… always alert to the heart racing sounds of intruders. It is easier to hear a far away dog barking into the wind. It is easier to breathe the air that holds onto the light moisture of an earlier sprinkle. The smothering heat of summer is merely a memory.

I can hear the patterned drumming of a driveway basketball… the chiming of a child’s bicycle bell, saddened by the approach of colder weather. The chirping of little birds has been replaced by the mocking calls of grazing blackbirds. I strain to hear the absent sound of the dove that nested in the Leland Cypress. They greeted me daily through the summer months… they have moved on.

We must all move on… a new season… a new journey in time. It will pass without me if I don’t take the time to watch and to notice. It will pass if I don’t take the time to notice the small things… the hidden things… the quiet things… the sights and sounds of a new season.

                                                 Shannon R Killman