Consequence of Sound

I used to love the sound of music.
The sweet jazz melodies, that would whisk me away to a better place,
The smooth blues progression, that would bring me back to Earth.
The strum of a guitar, the slap of a bass, the crash of a cymbal.
But most of all, I loved hearing a woman’s voice.
A perfectly pitched, well trained, wearing her emotions on her sleeve, woman’s voice.

I used to love the sounds of the day.
The random sounds I didn’t notice, until I couldn’t notice.
The animals enjoying the perfect weather of a spring morning,
The creeks escaping from the floorboard next to my bed,
Finally able to exhale after a night of silence.
The sound of my car starting, leaving no doubt that it was ready.
The sound of the wind; I miss the wind the most.

I now loathe the absence of sound in the mundane.
The silence of water flowing through my faucet while doing dishes,
The idol chatter between co-workers, the mute rustling of papers.
The empty sensation of slamming a door, or screaming, or crying.
The surprising bursts of wind, which attacks without warning.
I loathe the wind the most.

I still love the sound of music.
The artistry of musicians, gracefully moving their fingers across a guitar, or a piano.
The emotion on an opera singers face, as she fully engulfs herself in her music.
The looks on peoples faces, as they dance without shame or remorse.
But most of all, I love the vibrations dancing through me at a live show,
Allowing me to feel the music; to be one with the music.