Sounds of Silence

My spouse and I walked along down the silent street in Binghamton, New York.

It really wasn't silent.  Windchimes chimed in the breeze.  Birds sang. A church carillon played to an empty congregation.  

Nature spoke. Daffodils swayed in the air, and cherries bloomed.

It was the humans living on the streets who were silent.  On this one street, no one moved.  Other streets had one or two dog walkers.  One had a young mother with a stroller.  In the distance, a sole lawn mower spoke its roar on a Sunday morning.

In some ways, I could get used to these silent streets with little traffic. My spouse and I have listened to woodpeckers, observed bright red cardinals, and even saw a hawk alight in a tree, during this time.

But in other ways, I know it shouldn't be like this.

My theme for the A to Z Challenge (today is an off day, by the way) should have been "Planning to Write about One Thing and, instead, writing about something else."  This wasn't what I was planning to blog at all, today.

Today, I ran across this blog post.

In the midst of fear and uncertainty, nature is paying little attention to us.  But I do need to pay some more attention to nature.  I had thoughts of getting into birding, but the mere thought is overwhelming.  There's so much detail.

I sat in my back yard one day recently, and watched some black bird in a tree court (I assume) a female.  It had its wings outspread.  It gave a cry, then spread out its wings again.  Or maybe it was mad at another bird.  I had no idea but it was a nice distraction.  Would I have noticed in better times?

We humans have been both drawn inward and outward.  Is this how the hunters and gatherers of old felt, time almost standing still, and only the march of the seasons revealing the passage of the minutes?

All I know is, sometimes I do enjoy the Sounds of Silence.