Not a Spoken Word

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As I write tonight, I’m listening to the night sounds in the City. The constant sound of traffic is sort of like white noise. I like it.

There are motorcycles doing wheelies and dove pairs coo-cooing on the branches close to the window. Screechy speed demons test out their brake jobs. There is the deafening roar of the helicopters overhead and the fire engines and police cars as they make their way to the scene.

The more subtle sounds escape my ear but I depend on my eyes to hear what they have to say. Like reading lips I listen with my whole being, concentrating on the whole message and not just the spoken word. Does the little old lady in the rest home across the street understand that I bought flower boxes to match her glorious geraniums? Does she feel the warmth my spirit sends when I wave from below? And how about the homeless man who makes not a sound as he digs through the foul trash I just threw into the dumpster?

Few would hear the whir of the Hummingbird’s wings as they hover near my window panes. But some of the most important things are shown and not a spoken word anyway.

2 thoughts on “Not a Spoken Word

    volklchord said:
    May 24, 2012 at 12:16 am

    I understand about the comfort of “white noise”. The house I grew up in was fairly close to US 23. I remember laying in bed listening to tires slap on the concrete as the cars and trucks ran over gaps in the slabs of pavment. When Tammy & I lived in Whimore Lake we were a farmers field away from train tracks, I think that was my favorite thing to hear the train’s air horn blow as it moved through town. It’s comforting to hear the signs of life in the middle of the night. Well, at least to me.
    Thanks for posting, I enjoyed reading this.

      Samantha Penhale said:
      March 7, 2013 at 10:02 pm


      Thank you so much for the encouragement. I loved hearing the train barrel past my apartment when I lived in Michigan.

      Hope you and Tammy are well!


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