I
spent a recent weekend at my parents' house in western Maryland, where I
grew up. (And when I say western Maryland, I really mean western, as in
Allegany County.)
My parents' house is the last one on its street. Beyond it are fields and trees.
I snuggled into my old bed for the night and listened.
Crickets. That's all I heard. Nothing else.
My parents' house is the last one on its street. Beyond it are fields and trees.
I snuggled into my old bed for the night and listened.
Crickets. That's all I heard. Nothing else.
No
voices yelling below my window. No screeching tires. No blaring radios.
No crosswalk signal's incessant beeping.
I kept listening. Any noise seemed rather strange. There's no reason for anyone to be there, so even a car driving by sounds suspicious.
It was so quiet, I thought I might not get to sleep.
Have I become used to living downtown, with all its sounds? Have I become so accustomed to the noises I complain about that I actually need them?
I decided that was crazy and went to sleep, enjoying my few hours of quiet.
I kept listening. Any noise seemed rather strange. There's no reason for anyone to be there, so even a car driving by sounds suspicious.
It was so quiet, I thought I might not get to sleep.
Have I become used to living downtown, with all its sounds? Have I become so accustomed to the noises I complain about that I actually need them?
I decided that was crazy and went to sleep, enjoying my few hours of quiet.
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