the sounds that brought me here ...
the early winter outdoor silence,
absent of inconsiderations -
[before rudeness and suburbia invaded] -
the kind of unimposing sound
that generations before me heard
standing on this same ground ...
the occasional breeze stirred leaves or branches -
a cracking or thump from something walking, falling,
or dropping ...
a bird call or few from winter stragglers
maybe geese, but not often ...
though there is no wind,
every head shift cups a different sound;
could be the easterlies,
or just the earth turning ...
then, the amazing whisper
of snow flakes touching the ground -
in dendrites of childhood;
peaceful, safe, and quiet -
gentle chimes
of prayer bells,
found on the floor
of catalina straits -
breaks this trance,
with penetrating cold
and fond memories ...
