written by: Carrie Magness Radna
I used to hate the sounds outside my bedroom window:
the helicopters flying overhead every evening,
the screams from the neighbors who lived by the ditch,
the barking of our dog, Scout.
There is a tree in the backyard
that never stops moving;
its leaves crackle & coast in windy days,
providing good shelter for bird families
& the occasional squirrels.
& the tree sang too loud with the wind ( = psithurism)
& its inhabitants wouldn’t let up their noises
so I could sleep peacefully.
I wanted to shout: “Shut up!”
Now, I miss that bedtime noise.
My husband snores like a wild elephant
until he rolls over—then, quiet
(sometimes sirens erupt)
We live 9 floors up where no trees grow.
I miss the wind songs of the trees the most.
Carrie Magness Radna
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