A Listening Sense…

BeesWorking

As if my senses weren’t heightened enough from what my eyes were beholding in Jasper’s Horseshoe Canyon, my ears could hear the gentle work of bees busying themselves to keep this miracle of explosive colour alive.

These are industrious sounds drowned out by the continual background hum of man-made noises that I no longer notice in my city life.

Until, that is, I ventured into a natural wilderness free from sound pollution.  I marvelled at the gentle hum these little insects made, a droning I was not aware of in my own sweet garden.

A grasshopper, brown and indistinct against the rocks and earth jumped up and flew across the grasses, immediately a bright orange butterfly.

I watched one flit from stone to stone, first orange then brown then orange again.

And then its noise entered my consciousness and I realised with every flutter of its bi-coloured wings it made a click, like those mechanical, cheap, toys I loved at Christmas.

I had learned his secret.  Seen and unseen.  Heard only as he winged his way darting above the fallen boughs and daisies.

Orange and loud.

Brown and silent.

As I noticed the flitting butterflies swarming around my feet I wondered are they what they seem?

The gentle sounds reminded me of childhood autumns in my English garden.

EnglishCountryside

The gentle sounds I cannot hear in my Dallas field,

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for the din of passing traffic, the whine of the pool pump, the whirr of an overhead fan, the clatter of the air conditioning and the thrum of the fridge.

The gentle sounds smothered by the cacophony of what makes urban life bearable.

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