Sound Cycle

Sound Cycle

I first hear them down the
big hill where the creek flows—
cicadas, crickets,
chanting welcome to spring.  

The air warms, and they climb,
bring their song to my front door,
fill the farmland
around my yard—

until the tractor comes,
spreads its arms, and
paints the fields from green to mud.  

I can walk this place with my eyes closed now and
tell you where the sprayer has been. It’s easy—
just listen for emerald singing
and the thick, brown silence.

Photo by Red Zeppelin on Unsplash

The Prompt

I wrote this poem several weeks ago. In the meantime, soybeans have risen from the ground, as if someone pressed a green crayon to the edge of a ruler, bequeathing life in perfect lines. Slowly, sound is returning to the fields, though it is still just a muted imitation of the full orchestra that performs in the tall grass. Sometimes I close my eyes to listen—to drop into the layers of song, peeling apart what is near and what is far, what is to the left of me and what is to the right. Occasionally, I cup my hands around my ears, pressing them forward to take in a fuller range of sound.

For today’s prompt, I invite you experience the world through your ears. Perhaps there is a sound that you love (or hate) that immediately sparks a poem within you. Great, go with it! If not, then let’s play a little. As you go about your day, pause here and there to notice the sounds. If it feels safe to do so, close your eyes, and give yourself fully to the act of listening. What does your backyard sound like? Your neighborhood park? Your kitchen? Your office? What does your lover’s voice sound like? Or your child’s laugh? Or you, singing in the shower?

When you give yourself to the experience of listening, what happens inside you? What memories, feelings, desires, or associations bubble to the surface? What meanings do you find yourself giving to various sounds?

Somewhere in all of this, a poem waits that can be written only by you. I look forward to reading it if you’d like to share!