"A Chinese Whistle Tied to a Pigeon's Wing"

I am fortunate to live in a quiet neighborhood.  No loud music.  Not that many cars coming up the hill.  But, other than, say, hearing the Battle of Austerlitz some distance off, I'm wondering what people used to hear.  Harvesters singing in neighboring fields?  (Like that scene in the BBC's "Lark Rise to Candleford.")  Ox-carts rumbling down the road?  Someone chopping wood? 

Out walking along a trail beside a river recently, I could hear rock music penetrating the otherwise silent scene.  Later, back home, much like a cinematic version of Roman legions beating their shields in rhythm as they marched off to war--the metallic sound reverberating across the land--I heard the now-daily *thump*ing* *pound*ing* from the interstate bridge reconstruction only blocks away.  With May, we began The Power Mower Take-Over.  With June, we have Bikers Going to Their Annual Gathering.  Two- or three-hundred thousand meet in our neighboring state with a goodly number coming through our little town to connect to the interstate.  As I sit in my garden (or even inside my house), I can hear them accelerate when they make the turn.

I've read many of M.F.K. Fisher's books, reveling in her descriptions of life in France as well as California's wine region.  As she got older, she described the increasing need for silence.  In Last House, she said:  "I admit without perturbation the possibility that if I live long enough, my spiritual ear may reshape itself to such a point that it will tolerate only the sound of a flute, or a Chinese whistle tied to a pigeon's wing."

I'm finding myself almost approaching a similar frame of mind.  Sometimes, I'll put on Bach as a morning raga.  But I often prefer to fill my day with silence.  (I had to smile recently when following a car with that great bumper sticker, "Honk If You Love Silence.")

I spent part of this past winter in Honolulu.  Waikiki, to be exact, since that's where the condo rentals are.  Having been there the year before, I knew enough not to take something on Ala Wai Boulevard, Kuhio or Kalakaua Avenues since they are the main (and totally noisy) thoroughfares.

Traffic out the window of one place I stayed on Ala Wai Boulevard the year before, beating a fast retreat next morning

So this time I found a pleasant spot on a side street.  The building was quiet.  But to amuse myself one day, I noted all the sounds that came in from outside, often several at once.

Garbage trucks
Back-up beeps
Car alarms
Power mowers
Power blowers
Power trimmers
Police sirens
Fire engines
Ambulances
Buses
Cars
Car radios
Night-time shouting
Muffler-less motorcycles

Plus fireworks every Friday night.  A pleasant enough sound ... but I always jumped with the initial explosions because I wasn't expecting them.

Except for the fireworks, these have all now entered Our General Background Noise Scene. But, in addition (and no matter where I went), there was one sound that totally enchanted me--the soft cooings of the Zebra Doves.  Coo coo COO coo coo COO co COO co COO co COO.  They were gentle little things with long tails and zebra-striped markings.  I often sought them out and stood listening to their song.  Not unlike a Chinese flute on a pigeon's wing, you might say.