The sounds of the spaces in which we dwell in through the looking glass.

  • Feb. 11, 2021, 3:05 p.m.
  • |
  • Public

This morning I could distinctly hear the daily, trumpeted call of the National Anthem from the Navy Yard or the Marine Barracks (I’m not sure which). The sound doesn’t always travel to our living room window, but something about the cloud cover or the wind sometimes makes the acoustics just right. It made me smile and think of all the other sounds of the spaces in which I have dwelt:

the percussive echoes from summertime high school marching band practices (tied inextricably to other memories: a massive field, towering bright lights, the high arches of giant sprinklers),

the blare of car radios and the puttering starts and stops of rush hour traffic,

the low, howling whistle of freight trains and the foxes’ shrill reply.

I cherish them all.

You must be logged in to comment. Please sign in or join Prosebox to leave a comment.