Ringing and Spinning

Our first night in Mililani, even with all the windows thrown open like giant, hungry ears, the world was distressingly silent. It seemed like something less than nothing, a negative space, the rare bark of a dog or chirp of a gecko the only proof that we weren't sealed off in a vacuum. I became hyperaware of things I'd rarely noticed before: the click of my ankle as I walked, the sound of Katie's fingernails as she scratched an itch, the water heater clicking off. I woke myself up with the sound of my own snoring.

It was strange. So many things had changed in the previous few weeks, but it was the quiet that I seemed to notice most.

Comments

You haven't lived in the country for a long time.

Whenever I go to Honokaa, I too am aware of the non-urban sounds that quietly echo through my parent's home after the lights go out. Because the house is old, a little breeze will cause the wooden timbers of our home to squeak, maybe even shake, rattle or roll. Sometimes our cats or a neighbor's animal can be heard scampering under the house... a distant dog howls in the night.

Off to bed I go... taking in my Zzzz's.

Sometimes in the middle of the night, I am awakened by the sound of someone slowly walking down the hall. That person is trying to be quiet.... but I can hear the faint footsteps on the wooden floor. He or she is either the early riser, or making a belated appointment to answer nature's call.

The night is dark. No city lights around, except for maybe the moon and for sure the stars up above. Blackness reigns.

Unless it is a cloudy night, which could bring a shower or two of pure wet rain.

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