The conversation outside my window begins as dawn's first light begins to creep overhead. Clearly the birds are communicating. Just as a puppy can get a general sense of its owner's message from the actions that accompany the words, we may think we understand the birds' language, but not the words – if words they are.
Is there a place left on Earth where the birds can speak without the drone or whine of a manmade motor in the distance? From time to time we experience blessed silence for a few seconds, until the next vehicle whines along, either somewhere far away or up close and personal. And in those few seconds of silence are the value of living in the country; in the city is constant artificial sound/noise.
Odd that, with my hearing not what it used to be, I would write about the joy of silence, since living in silence is a gnawing fear for any lover of words and music. Not being able to hear or comprehend the voices is a frightening prospect, but being in a place where silence reigns is joyful. No – not silence, but the absence of mechanical sounds, a place where the breeze is not drowned out, a place where the breeze can be heard and attended.