Walking to Music

Today, I walk earlier than usual and experience a slight bit of unease. For the first 30 minutes I see only two other people
.
There have been rare reports of cougar and bear along the creek – the knowledge of which makes me very aware of my isolation.

When I turn back, I begin to meet more people, the majority of whom are wearing MP3s and IPods.
We smile in greeting and I say “good morning.” Of course they do not hear me. Nor did they hear any of the bears or cougars that snuck up on them from my earlier flight of imagination.

Unaware of the obbligato springing forth from the heavy underbrush, they miss the evasive fluttering of a Bewick's Wren. I watch it pause from its busyness and I sigh as it tilts its head back to sing with enthusiasm. How can such a loud trill emanate from so tiny a creature? They do not discern the performance of the wind symphony. Sometimes it plays a legato breeze in the bending trees.

Oher times a gust engages the leaves in a staccato attended tag around my feet.

When the cranky Canadian Goose tunes up his honker, they don’t notice. And they ignore the accompanying drumming of the water that cascades over the berms.

A Kingfisher's frenzied capriccio is most likely drowned out by their nano speakers. His irritated complaint draws my attention to the object of his rebuke – the blue heron. (I felt the same when the long-legged thief feasted in our fish pond.) As my car comes into view, the distinct timbre of raindrops begins a pleasant rhythm that hasten my steps. When the crescendo suddenly swells, I laugh as a drenching concert falls from the sky.

Those other walkers may have been deaf to the quiet compositions around them … but I suspect they hear Mother Nature now!