Listening for a symphony.

I just climbed into bed, way too late, I realize.  Dressed in my U2 T-shirt and Curious George boxer shorts, I couldn’t be much more comfortable than I am right now.  My body melts into the sheets.  I should sleep, but I’m enthralled with my window.  At 1:30 in the morning I can’t see anything outside, but even during the day, the view would only offer the backsides of several nondescript two-story houses.  Anyway, it’s not the sight that entices me.  It’s the sounds.

The softest mist imaginable is falling outside my open window.  Even with all the miserable rain we’ve endured ever since the ice melted this Winter, I can’t resent this gentle shower.  It sounds so fragile I’m afraid a whisper might shatter it.  If I listen lovingly, I can hear underneath the rain the sounds of air conditioners humming, a dog barking in the distance, and a bullfrog croaking.  It’s a paradise of nature in the midst suburbia, if only I can close my eyes or be blindfolded by a moonless night.

It’s a symphony.

I wonder how many windows are open in my subdivision tonight.  Few, I’d wager.  It’s a waste of money when the A.C.’s running, and the windowsill might get wet.  But what a small price that seems in exchange for this concerto!  It makes me wonder how many such symphonies I miss simply because I’m not listening.  Perhaps much of our happiness in this life depends upon our willingness to listen for it.

I’ll be sleeping with my windows open more often.



About leahrayanne

Autumn. Long conversations. Tea. People. Undisturbed land. Cooking. Literature. Teaching. Learning. Hiking. Travel. Laughter. Things built to last. Love. Home.
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6 Responses to Listening for a symphony.

  1. Sabe says:

    Miserable rain? Pish posh. Rain is glorious. Especially when it’s 90 degrees outside, the sun is glaring on you, but the sky is pouring buckets of water and you’re half a mile from you car. It’s absurd and enchanting and playful and wild. And I love being caught in the middle.

    • leahrayanne says:

      Hey, you of all people know I don’t mean that all rain is miserable. I love rain. But when it rains so much that farmers can’t plant their fields and I can’t get to my boyfriend because the roads are flooded, then I start to get just a little bit tired of it. And I don’t know about in Vincennes, but we haven’t had a whole lot of that delicious, sunny rain this Summer. It’s been much more like something from Wuthering Heights than Disneyworld. But yes, rain can certainly be absurd and enchanting and playful and wild. I love that you chose those descriptions for it.

      • Charles says:

        Rain makes corn. Corn makes whiskey. Whiskey makes my baby feel a little frisky. Back roads are boggin’ up. My buddies pile up in my truck. We hunt our honeys down. We take ’em into town, start washin’ all our worries down the drain. Rain is a good thing!

  2. leahrayanne says:

    You make me smile.

  3. gorgeous post! 🙂

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