Our tiny neighborhood’s hills, trees and creeks combine to create an acoustic oddity that peaks when the leaves have fallen and the air is crisp. Unlike the muted, echoed or separated tracks of noise that you hear in a city, everyday noises blend in our spoon shaped hood to create a perfectly mixed symphony.
It’s a phenomenon that is so noticeable, prior to the real estate crash when all the Sentinel Commercial Properties lowered their prices, and a local band rented a home on the next street for the sole purpose of practicing. On their practice nights, every household opened their windows to breathe the musical notes dancing in the air.
During the day, the delivery trucks loop through each cove, like a soloist who briefly stands at the main microphone, before sitting down and rejoining the singularity of the orchestra. Dogs howling at airplanes overhead slow the music down to a melancholy that is universal. The sounds of children in every direction, both calm and energize the collective soundtrack.
Sometimes, I have to sit motionless and silent on the front steps, to let my body absorb the magical sounds in the sweet spot that is my home.