When I can, I like to get up early. I do this because I have four boys under the age of fourteen. They are like unconscious flies on a cold windowsill. As soon as the room warms, or the sun shines on the glass long enough, they begin to stir, then walk around, then buzz. I’m choosing here to stop the metaphor before it arrives at me swatting, but I think you get my point.
So I get up early because it’s quiet. Strangely, this particular morning I found myself sitting in the quiet dark, thinking about sounds—as if my life were a screen with closed captions. What would the text read?
Sitting outside in the dark, I listed them until my first human interaction.
They went like this:
[Crickets chirp…]
[Koi pond fountain splashes…]
[Rooster crows…]
[Motorbike passes…]
[Muffled voices speak…]
[Radio talks…]
[Door opens… shuts…]
[Man coughs, clears throat…]
[iPhone timer rings…] (My meditation timer.)
[Dogs bark…]
[Motorbike starts up…]
[Woman talks…]
[Man sneezes…]
[Water glass falls without breaking…]
[Airplane rumbles…]
[Birds chirp…] (This surprised me. I noted the time: 6:38 a.m. I guess today I really was up before the birds.)
[Footsteps approach…]
[“Good morning,” a hotel worker greets me…]
Love,
Aaron