A Short Winter Journey
The other night, as I made my way to the local liquor store, I found myself walking solo through the streets of the town I grew up in. Strolling through the tail end of a snowstorm, the streets near desolate. I bundled up before I left my house and just as I stepped out the door I put the buds of an iPod in my ears. I guess I always feel the need to supply a soundtrack whenever I step into the outside world. But when I got outside the wind was whipping the snow up and down the streets and through my wool jacket, as if it were a sieve, I could hear the quiet susurration of the snow and I was caught. Wrapped up in the cold snowy blanket of my town.
The streets were plowed but not as well as they should have been. It's a good thing I brought home boots. It's also a good thing that it was only one week from Christmas. I was covered in new, warm gear. (Even though I spend eleven of my months in Los Angeles. Don't think I don't appreciate it.) As I made my way up the hill next to my house I thought I'll turn the iPod on later. The world was so great, perfect in fact. Later, while recounting my journey to a friend, I thought about why I love the snow. Mainly it muffles the everyday sounds I hear. The mechanical, the urban, the modern noise sound pollution.
So many nights I'd be in bed at 51 Sullivan Street, wide awake and dreaming. Wondering if someday I'd end up in another bed -in a completely different place- an alternate reality in some other universe and I'd sit and listen through my walls and windows. Opening my ears* to the night sky. Almost always the first thing I'd hear would be 93. The major highway that's about a mile from where we live, heading to points North and South. I'd lay in bed and think about the truckers on the long haul or the motorcycle guy racing through traffic. Maybe I'd hear the docks and the banging of heavy equipment. The beep, beep of something backing up near the waterfront. Farther away, closer to my imagination, people yelling about important cargo. Maybe a plane inching across the Heavens, far above my bed.
On New Years Eve as I walked up the street, on a solo quest for spirits**, I made way through a quiet night with the whipping wind as my guide. The crunching of snow my only conversation... I never did turn on my iPod.
Love,
Chris
(*My heart breaks every time I look at my eyeglass prescription and see those negative sixes but if blind people's other senses are enhanced, then my negative six has to count for something right?)
(**I certainly did get really wrecked that night, though. Had a great time doing so. Just in case you're wondering.)
The streets were plowed but not as well as they should have been. It's a good thing I brought home boots. It's also a good thing that it was only one week from Christmas. I was covered in new, warm gear. (Even though I spend eleven of my months in Los Angeles. Don't think I don't appreciate it.) As I made my way up the hill next to my house I thought I'll turn the iPod on later. The world was so great, perfect in fact. Later, while recounting my journey to a friend, I thought about why I love the snow. Mainly it muffles the everyday sounds I hear. The mechanical, the urban, the modern noise sound pollution.
So many nights I'd be in bed at 51 Sullivan Street, wide awake and dreaming. Wondering if someday I'd end up in another bed -in a completely different place- an alternate reality in some other universe and I'd sit and listen through my walls and windows. Opening my ears* to the night sky. Almost always the first thing I'd hear would be 93. The major highway that's about a mile from where we live, heading to points North and South. I'd lay in bed and think about the truckers on the long haul or the motorcycle guy racing through traffic. Maybe I'd hear the docks and the banging of heavy equipment. The beep, beep of something backing up near the waterfront. Farther away, closer to my imagination, people yelling about important cargo. Maybe a plane inching across the Heavens, far above my bed.
On New Years Eve as I walked up the street, on a solo quest for spirits**, I made way through a quiet night with the whipping wind as my guide. The crunching of snow my only conversation... I never did turn on my iPod.
Love,
Chris
(*My heart breaks every time I look at my eyeglass prescription and see those negative sixes but if blind people's other senses are enhanced, then my negative six has to count for something right?)
(**I certainly did get really wrecked that night, though. Had a great time doing so. Just in case you're wondering.)
posted by Walsh Brothers at
8:15 PM
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