Wednesday, July 20, 2011

A sound

After 10pm and we sit with the remnants of supper on the terrace, plates cleared, glasses of strawberries and cream scraped clean. I hear a deep note, repeated twice, with long intervals between, then repeated twice again. Vince strains to hear. We spend minutes listening to the night waiting for him to catch it. A fog horn.

After the dishes are cleared I stand on the stone table and see the fog moving in,  low and white over the lights of Brooklyn, rising from the southeast, coming from the sea. High above the night blinks with planes at cruising altitude, the stars in place, and below, here,  the strawberries, which continue to ripen in their small pots, watered at dusk.

Inside we switch on the air conditioning again, water runs in the sink and the cat begs for chicken bones.

Knowing that the fog is there, and coming in, that we are being warned, is a small comfort, a silent nod, telling me that it is not all up to us, that there is still weather, that we need protecting from larger things, that every nuance of our overcommitted lives is shaded by the larger moods of the planet.


  1. Summer has yet to arrive in Seattle... we've had 66 minutes of 80 degree plus weather since June 21st! Fog horns, yes, we hear them often from the lighthouses nearby - Point Robinson on Maury Island and Alki Point in West Seattle. I enjoy hearing them sound their warning to marine traffic... Nice post, I felt like I was sharing the moment with you.

  2. So beautiful, that last sentence. Yes, we forget. We are infinitesimal parts of the planet that has birthed us, of vast galaxies and even vaster universes. Yet here we are in this tiny precious space, this tiny moment of time, yet filled with such richness.

  3. I can hear that fog horn. Very evocative.

    Far be it from me to take the gloss off what is a well written post (as ever) but the subject of weather is a bit of a downer right now. The recent droughty situation has corrected itself with some gusto over here. Ou est le soleil? The rain does pour and the wind does blow. Bloody rain, bloody wind.

  4. lovely. no foghorns here, but oppressive humidity...difficult for young grandchildren & thier ama to breathe in.

  5. And as I tried to fall asleep in the heat, which has found its way even into the mountains of Vermont, I was soothed by another evocative sound...a train whistle down in the faraway valley.

    Thanks for this lovely post.

  6. This is so dark and foreboding, but I love it. Makes me wish it were part of a novel so that I can read more.


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