Hear me. Here me.
So here’s what I heard on vacation…
… Oops, in trying to relate the sounds of hearing, I heard seven things that belie the truth of what I heard. Because really, I heard this…
…Damn it! I screwed it up again! Hear nothing, is what I’m trying to say. Here is more than-way more than nothing. Ever heard nothing? No. Me either. Until Hornby. Until I got loose of my city vibe, my shitty vibe. Hear ye, here ye. So let’s try again, me.
Hear this…A cow bird. Gracie whining cuz’ mama’s done gone fo’ a bit. A homeless yet entrepreneurial wasp, chewing the cabin post. A deep inhale of American smoke. The crisp departure of unenamored feet. The sizzle of wings just ready to eat. The buzz of bees so close to the sheets. The cawing of ravens who’re ready for meat.
Do not hear this…Air conditioners and suv’s. Sirens, trains and flat t.v.’s. Sodium lamps and angry squirrels. Feral cats and human perils. 4th of July shenanigan crackers, pops and bangs and homeless wackers.
The noise of San Marco that I most usually tune out, is the antithesis of a cacauphony that Hornby’s without.
Can you hear me now? I sincerely hope not. The silence will unnerve you. But it most surely will serve you.
Ya heard dat?