dusk & sounds

      My sister and I drove home the other night at dusk, and my window was down and I could hear the peepers screeching. "It's cold," she said. "I know," I replied, but didn't roll up my window. No way sister. The sound of peepers in the late muggy spring is my favorite sound in the whole world.

    So many sounds. Another one is a diesel engine. Man, I used to hang on the tire swing every night at closing, and Saturday nights we watched the trucks go by on their way to Stateline Speedway and fawned over the jacked-up diesel trucks that would make me roll my eyes now. Booking down the road with that rumbling under your seat, you feel like you're on top of the whole dang world.

    And thunder. Especially at night. When the bedroom windows are open and the curtains blow across the dresser, those curtains Grandma made out of the top sheets from my old bed set. So powerful and frightening that it comforts you all over, like a scolding given in love from a Father you don't have to doubt.

     What about bootfalls on pavement, or a garage door opening late at night telling you that everyone's in, or the Dr. Quinn opening music, or the many voices in a crowd before the concert starts, or oil sizzling in a frying pan, or seagulls in a Chick-Fil-A parking lot, or the crackle of a casette tape. At dusk on a summer day the lake calms down and it's so quiet you can hear it.

     Just feeling grateful for my ears tonight. Among a lot of things.