Step outside and sit down. Take a deep breath, close your eyes, empty your mind of all the junk that has taken up residence throughout the day and just listen to the orchestra surrounding you. Beneath the surface of the neighbor's barking dog, traffic from the street, and the stereo in the car drifting by, you will begin to hear the sounds of the earth, nature's voice.
We are a visual species, using sight as a first line of reference. And that's wonderful, especially for an artist that depends on this sense more than any other. But we have been gifted with five (yes, five) others and how often do we really use them? Do we smell the greening of the earth? Do we inhale the freshness of a rain shower? And do we ever stop to really listen to the intricate sounds around us?
|red-wing blackbird on the right|
But the sounds don't cease when the sun goes down. I have a small bamboo wind chime that is near my bedroom window, rattling softly through the dark accompanied by the frog that lives behind the shutters. The frogs have returned to TCLH this year, and this one issues his call throughout the night, invading my dreams before the chatter of Buddha and Erb rouse me in the morning light.
So as we sit on the cusp of summer, take a few minutes this week and listen to the language of the earth.
"I have enjoyed greatly the second blooming that comes when you suddenly find - at the age of fifty, say - that a whole new life has opened before you, filled with things you can think about, study, or read about ... It is as if a fresh sap of ideas and thoughts was rising in you." Agatha Christie