Writing prompt for today is “Give me a memory of sound” and my brain floods with noise.

Cicadas, harbingers of hot days, singing in a scratchy whine.  Curie’s purr, deep and soft against my chest (and sadly absent these two years).  Tucker’s “whoo-whoo-whoo” how/bark he made when absolutely so happy he could almost burst (another sound gone forever).  Spaulding Lake water sucking at the dock at my grandparents’ camp.  The ululation of loons in the morning mist.  Falling snow and its sand-through-hourglass hiss.  Fallen leaves rustling around my feet as I walk.  A lawnmower’s distant burr.  Surf roaring as it spends its energy against sandy and rocky shore, the clatter of pebbles rolling as the water sucks them toward the deep.  A seagull’s eerie wail, like the voice of a drowned sailor.  A harbour buoy’s ping.

There are other sounds, man-made noises which intrude by mistake or on purpose.  We like to fill up our days with sound.  Silence frightens us, because silence and stillness make us focus within and people generally don’t like to do that.  It makes them think.  Noise distracts us, lets us turn our attention to the outside world rather than our interior landscape.

Do yourself a favor.  A minute is all it takes to find a place of quiet.  If you can’t reach it externally, do so internally.  If the sounds of nature are not around you, remember them in your head.  Even if the only nature you know is the of pigeons or the cry of gulls around a garbage scow, close your eyes and focus on that.  Reconnect, refresh, and go on.



About Melissa Crandall

A million years ago--round-about the first Ice Age--I cut my writing teeth on fanzines and science fiction media tie-in novels. I'm happy to say that I've since branched out to include fantasy, horror, essays, and narrative nonfiction. This site will keep you up-to-date on my adventures in writing. I live in Connecticut with my husband--who frequently wonders what he got himself into by marrying a writer--two cats named Tuna and Gypsy, and a semi-neurotic Australian shepherd named Holly.
This entry was posted in Environment, Essays, Life, Peace, personal growth, Women, Writer, Writing and tagged , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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