Saturday, September 09, 2006
Staccato Drill
All week. Inundated with noise: jackhammer, digger, dump truck. Slicing up asphalt and obliterating concrete. 36 windows allow a lot of sound. Staring at the ceiling, wondering what caused the bubble in the plaster, a sphere suspended, one hundred years, an object of focus. Something, a giant vacuum? A tearing, a ripping through to this side of time. The sharp alarm of large trucks backing up. What I would have done for silence. For church bells, for birdsong.
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2 comments:
Ha! For the last two weeks they've been doing construction on the place ten feet away from my computer office window, where I write. At 9 AM til 8 PM, all you can hear is the clanging and clanking of ladders, trucks, tools. On the plus side, I like the fact that one of the working guys keeps whistling songs, especially early in the morning. I've met few people who literally whistle while they work.
This is beautiful. There is a time for noise and a time for silence. I seldom get them right, but I hope you find your birdsong. I'm sure you will.
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