Sounds of Song, Sounds of Silence

Back when vinyl came in discs a little larger than cd's; back when blackberries grew in ditches and I was allowed to ride my bike to pick them; I listened a lot to a forty-five my mother saved from the fiftie's - "Mockingbird Hill" sung by Patti Page. And clambering around in those ditches by the railroad tracks in down in Sumter, South Carolina, I learned early the call of Jays, Cardinals and Mockingbirds.

Last night, walking in twilight, the girls and I heard the many trills and tunes of one Mockingbird, sitting so low in a young southern pine, he could have been on my shoulder. The girls didn't scare him, my flash didn't scare him, and he continued to sing with such vigor and happiness I can only imagine that maybe he was a new proud dad.

We counted over ten songs in a two minute span. Forget stopping to smell the roses. Listen to the lullabies. And while you're hear, um here, take time to read this meditation on sound and silence down on the corner from the poet, Allison Smythe.