I took my coffee outside on the deck with me this morning and listened. You want to know what my hometown sounds like?
A slow hum, a vibration really, most probably issuing from machines and borne of various energies surging alongÂ unseenÂ paths, underlies everything like a furtive drum line. ThisÂ latitude providesÂ theÂ companion rasp of slow erosion as the Gulf breezes sit atop the hum withÂ whiningÂ starts and stops, pinching to life a collection of nature’s voices; birdsÂ call to one another amid churning coughs of automobiles turning over; pines and oaks creek and wave; andÂ the bayous splash and bubble and then stare back at me hissing as the water settles. There is music of conversation nearby. English, I think, and an argument in Spanish, interrupted momentarily as a delivery truck rumbles by and holiday travelers soar above to an unknown destination. Overhead, theÂ sun is heavy, hanging low in the sky. Does it have sound? No. Today it is silent. InÂ summer it feels like Stevie Ray’s guitar sounds,Â but in winter . . . Well, in winter, it’s quiet.Â And it can be deafening.Â
What does your hometown sound like?
The Afternoon Inquisition (or AI) is a question posed to you, the Skepchick community. Look for it to appear daily at 3pm ET.