August is slipping away like a dream upon waking. It fades too quickly; I try to hold on, but I can’t. There’s too much back-to-school gibberish, too many preseason football games, the traffic is building to a crescendo. Maybe you beg for just one more week of summer, or even another day or two, just one last swim or picnic. But summer’s home run is going, going, gone. September is knocking.
Last week, I was floating on a blue raft in my friend’s backyard pool. I was alone, I had plenty of sunscreen on. Not a care in the world—OK, maybe a few cares, but for the moment, I let them all go. The sky was blue, the breeze was fresh, and I could hear a flock of geese chuckling down by the river. Seemed like a good moment to catalogue all my favorite sounds of summer, to make a list of my favorite or not-so-favorite aural estival stimuli. Here’s what I came up with—the good, the bad, and the in-between:
- Lawn Mowers. They’re the bane of summer existence, especially in the morning when I’m not even halfway through my first cup of coffee. Officer: arrest that man for disturbing the peace or for committing environmental murder! But then I remember: after all that obnoxious noise, all might be forgiven if I can detect one of nature’s most alluring smells: the scent of freshly mown grass, Mother Nature’s signature summer perfume. That wafting aroma might even make the lawn mower’s roar tolerable, as long as it isn’t followed by the whine of a string trimmer. Enough with the manicure!
- Thunder. Maybe it’s the low rumble of a far-off summer storm, or the tooth-rattling explosion right over your house, but summer storms are a sign of the times and thunder is their calling card. I admit that summer storms can be disruptive, even dangerous, but there must be some atavistic impulse in me that loves to watch them roll in and to hear the rain pelting on the tin roof of the porch before moving on, leaving only a distant echo. A car drives by and I hear the splash of a puddle.
- The jingle of the ice cream truck. This is a long-ago childhood memory, but it’s still in play. “Do your ears hang low, do they wobble to and fro?” I would run inside and ask mother for a quarter, then rocket back to the curb to stand in line with my pals. Sure, that quarter today wouldn’t even buy my place in line with all the other neighborhood kids waiting their turn to step up to the window and try to decide about what kind of yummy treat would soon be melting all over their dirty t-shirts or to make their brains freeze.
- Cicadas. Now, remember: I was floating in my friend’s pool when suddenly there’s this crazy cacophony of whirling, buzzing noise, enough decibels to wake up the dead. All those ribbed muscles on a male cicada’s abdomen—they’re called tymbals—buckling and snapping back, amplified by his hollow body acting like a drum. He’s just looking for love in all the wrong places, but then, just as suddenly as the rattling began, there’s a profound silence. Message sent. RSVP, baby!
- This last one is a bit more subtle: quiet, late-night conversations on the front porch, lamp-lit, or maybe it’s just candle glow reflecting off a glass. Laughter. But be careful of this one: too much of your own good thing can be a pain in your neighbor’s neck. Take it inside. Believe me, I know.
I think that’s as far as I got with my list before I dozed off. Maybe you can think of other signature sounds of summer. LMK.
I’ll be right back.
