It is late. There is a solid darkness out the window. The only light is from a single luminous gold street light. The house is quiet for the first time today. I feel like noise has been roaring around me all day either with dogs, or thoughts or both. I almost giggle to myself as I listen, waiting to hear something, anything, as I don’t trust this kind of quiet. I sit anxiously, waiting for the spell to be broken, thinking of the power of sound or in this case it’s absence. I recently read Hark by Alice Vincent which is an echoing exploration into sound, listening and being a women who wants to listen deeper. I found it so interesting, in fact I was envious, of the corners of life that she explores in an effort to understand how sound intersect in our daily lives from the little whispers to the big bangs.
‘I love sounds innate resistant quality, how it engulfs and changes the environment. It’s ability to elude & transcend spoken word to communicate & congregate.’ Alice Vincent,Hark
I am sitting on the bed with big dog who lies near me. He lets out a deep murmur almost moan, which is one of my favorite sounds to hear. He is not an affectionate dog but as he gets older and becomes the old man of the house, his grumbles and moans have become something that I deeply cherish. I take them, like when I scratch his ears, as little love calls. A coo of a response to finding the right spot behind his ear that prompts urgent leg scratching. I think I may have mentioned but he has woken me at night with his sounds. From the deepest of slumber I am roused to hear the loud primeval call of his ancestors. Atlas loves to howl like an accident wolf. He never wakes just howls at something in his dreams that are secret to him. To me he has always been a mighty beast. He is a dog to remember. His night howls are just reminding me of this.
I think, as my curiosity about sound has been awoken, about sounds in the garden. There are those that are of action. The snip of cutting a branch or a stem. The sound soil makes as it splits apart when a spade breaks the surface. The thud of worm filled compost I dump from a bucket, then spread across the soil. These are sounds of action. Satisfying mumbles of work. It is only when I think hard about them that they exist as something to be known. Most of the time they are just sounds that meld into the background of doing.
‘Sound was far broader - far more beautiful - than I had allowed myself to realise, and my connection with the noises of the world was something that lay in my body as much as my brain” Alice Vincent Hark
In the days to come I think more about unnoticed sounds. I put the washing out, occasionally thwacking out a tea towel that is a crumbled ball. It needs straightening out in order for it dry successfully. It is a satisfying sound and another sound of work, of productivity. As I peg clothes to the line, around me I hear a flit. It is a fast movement with pace. Two small bodies, dark in colour, fly about, chasing each other. It is a dance which ends with both sitting on the branch above the washing line, I realise that they are tuis. Fighting or flirting I am not sure. Native birds in our area, the tui and the bellebird, are known for their song but to me they are also know by their flight sound. The belle birds and tuis fly fast, a trut trut sound as they move, while the kererū is a wosh of air, the sound of heavy motion. I realise I am enjoying collecting small sounds. Hark was a grateful read which I am sure will echo in my mind for time to come. It has given me much to think about and increased my appreciated of the beauty of an ordinary sound.