The Sounds

The sound I hear recalls the memory of a train beneath the streets of Boston. The rushing sound as the train moves in the darkness of the tunnels.

It was Boylston, or Berkley, or Washington Street Station. I think.

I picture people standing on the platform hearing the sound grow louder, and the anticipation of seeing the lights burst out of the darkness. Everyone ready, hoping the train will stop with open doors right where they stand waiting to board.

Today the sound is of a warm wind blowing through the tall pines and birch trees.

The sky is sun shine blue with white swatches of clouds, hanging silently overhead.

The lake looks dark in the bright sunlight; it moves slowly, seeming to decide whether to go east or west.

The breeze is as warm as the sun and pleasant.

My cold iced tea and my good book makes it almost impossible to move from my chair.

The swish of the wind and the occasional squawk of the Red Winged Blackbirds are the only sounds there are.

There is no tunnel here, no train, and no crowd of people....

Only Heaven and Earth.