Slither. Bzzz. Silence.
Snakes skulking under foot.
Mosquitoes swarming from the air.
Spiders hidden in shadows.
The creepies and crawlies of nature.
By size, they are weak and helpless.
We are the giants.
We rule the Earth.
They skulk and swarm
and hide and bite.
It's silent before I walk in on them early in the dawn. As I open the barn door their ears perch high on their heads.
They start to whinny, snort and stomp their hooves. Louder and louder as if they are calling, "Get our food! Rub our noses! More hay today! Hurry!"
The grain goes into their bins. One by one they get quiet. Lastly a very peaceful sound is made. It's the sound of satisfaction.
It sounds so simple yet it is so soothing. It's their teeth politely munching their feed. It's a snort of thanks here and there.
I sit back and heed to the silence sound of serenity. The horses, their majestic actions and sounds release healing.
They tell the story of our lives. "Love me! Feed me! Fill me!" Their sounds reflect our innermost wants and needs. Their sounds deliver.
Is the sound you hear
It let's you know I'm here
This is my warning
Ignoring me leaves me scorning
Just give me space under the desert sun
A bite from me is no fun
I make this sound so I won't fight
Listen well so Death does not visit tonight
Cockatoo, cockatoo, I hear you whistling to me
catcalls from next door when you hear my tread
talk to me, talk to me, I need some response
I can almost see you stamping your feet.
I’m deeply involved with you, substitute male
feel an emotional connection to you when I answer
no demands from you but insist I retort promptly
when I’m alone in my kitchen fixing dinner.
You make a really good companion as you play
different tunes to which I respond in melody echo.
If you ever become silent, I’ll be so forlorn
without you, little cockatoo, to keep me in line.
And if a friend wonders why I whistle all day
I’ll tell her I am signaling my very special male.
Miss Coulter. my sister’s stuffed elephant
Somewhere distant and searching an elephant cries out.
Searching for its self. Lost amongst the chaos. Forgotten...
Stripped of it's ivory and dying.
Screaming out for help.
She's weeping. Weakness.
Overthrown by new ideology.
By that haunting bastard in Ford's Theatre. By the cries of Reagan era disbelief.
Farewell my old friend. As you cry out to the nothing.
Broker that deal and watch us crumble.
I could defend the importance of
A mouse's squeak
A dog's bark
A duck's quack
A lion's growl
But is that really what they say?
Or is it our translation?
Our transformation into words
Of what we call the sounds of nature
Of what we name, label, categorize
To make sense of our place and that of others.
To be human
To be humane
Is to share this earth.
Through the power of language
It is up to us
To defend our importance
To excuse our actions
To articulate our evolution
To ask for forgiveness.
But if I had to choose,
I would say the most important noise is the sound of a butterfly's wings as it flits away.
The sound of air
Mimicking each breath
Each peaceful moment of existence, light and free.
When Winter comes,
peepers tuck beneath the bark,
of naked sleeping trees.
Hiding, from the
Untamed lullabies echo
by the light of the shivery moon.
Snow blankets mossy beds,
The forest remains asleep.
nighttime crescendo begins,
wakes the forest.
of the peepers
flowers to bloom,
And the Robins home.
This nighttime song;
It's how I know it's Spring.
With its great simplicity
Cow's beautiful moo
Encompasses when you know
It's bullshit you've heard before
A Music Theorist’s Musings on Nature
Whales only produce pitches in the overtone series. Or perhaps the overtone series only uses pitches produced by whales.