The car comes racing down the street, screeches to a halt, and I hear plunk, plunk, plunk. It’s a familiar, welcome refrain, the newspaper being dropped into my driveway and those of my neighbors as well. Music briefly blasts from the radio, but quickly the driver guns the engine and speeds off to his next delivery.
Soon thereafter comes the school bus with its incessant beeping as it warns the still-drowsy neighborhood that it’s moving in reverse. As I glance out at the dimly lit sky, I envision the potential consequences of having caught a bus at 6:30 a.m. during my childhood I picture a life of perpetually mismatched socks, forgotten lunch, backpack in disarray, and constant neck pain from my head falling forward as I doze on the way to school. It is not a pretty picture, and as the bus pulls away, quietly moving forward, I am thankful for my days as a car-rider and for blessed middle age.
Stillness returns briefly before a mournful whistle announces a train loaded with cargo passing through town. Some people describe the train’s whistle as a lonesome, aching call to something unknown, a destination unseen, a journey not taken. Nevertheless, I am soothed by the sound. Having grown up in a railroad town, and having always lived near railroad tracks in the three cities I have called home, I find comfort, familiarity, and security in the whistle’s blast.
These are the sounds that greet me each day. What are your morning sounds?