NOISE

Is there a place in this world,

where there is no noise?

I'm sitting on the dock,

and I hear cars go by.

The water laps against the shore,

and fish splash in the deep.

I can even hear the breeze

brush through the trees.

Press your ear to the trunk,

and you'll hear it's pulse

as it provides shelter

for the twittering birds.

A deer appears to munch on some leaves,

smacking his lips as he enjoys his feast.

He sees me there.

Then scampers away.

I worry then, about the bears, I've heard:

They can climb though your window

and eat your food.

Then crash through the brush as they run away.

Even at home I'm not free

from the noise all around.

The refrigerator hums,

the computer does too.

And what about the air conditioner,

that keeps you cool?

The telephone rings.

The radio is on.

Blasting that music

all day long.

At night it's the box,

with its endless chatter.

There's comedy, drama.

The news and the weather.

The washing machine runs,

churning clothes all around.

Water swooshes and spins

until it runs down.

The dryer comes next

with its own humming sound

that lasts an hour,

and then I've found;

a timer will buzz

until to shut the thing off.

But for the moment I sit

on a dock by the lake,

counting my blessings

for the noise all around.

For I can still hear the music.

I can still hear the sounds.