I love listening to music while I write, but sometimes I forget about the little sounds just outside my window.
Far off in the distance, I can hear the call of the train passing to parts unknown. But even that is drowned out by the twitter and chatter of birds conversing among the budding foliage. I feel like I blinked and suddenly there was green among the browns and greys of the copse behind my apartment.
Occasionally the birds are invited closer by the promise of bird seed -- even now I can hear one picking at the seeds -- or just as easily driven away by sudden movement from either myself or someone walking their dog. They kick up leaves that have yet to be reclaimed by the wind, or decomposition, or the lawn maintenance the apartment hires. The last dregs of fall hang around a lot longer than those of winter -- though the chill in the air reminds us that it isn't so far gone.
As the wind gusts through, it catches hold of the small "Hello Spring" flag I have hanging out there and sometimes if the wind is just right I can hear it flap. Of course, that assumes it isn't drowned out by the windchimes that dangle just above them. It's a set my mom bought for me when I moved to this apartment: the top part is a bronze sun and below, hitting the chimes, is a grinning crescent moon. Every time they ring I think of her and my dad, as their backyard is filled with two things: bird feeders and windchimes.
And then, as if summoned by my thoughts, my mom calls and I answer the ringing phone.
#SOL21 and information around Slicing can be found on Two Writing Teachers.