The Intimacy of Forest Sounds, Techno and Nature's
It's the fourth day since that last big blast that left the ravine trees ravishing in white. Pine branches, normally held high, bowed low under their unaccustomed winter weight, are now stuck onto the snowy ground and we continue to weave our way through them to descend into the ravine. Although some clumps of heavily-deposited snow are now missing, leaving picturesque gaps on boughs, branches and twigs, an overnight dusting has done its best to fill those gaps, and once again we are confronted with that magical scene of white, utter white everywhere we look. The density of branches, normally bare of covering not their own, now blanketed entirely, constrain sight lines. One cannot see beyond the immediacy of the wonderfully whitely laden branches, twigs and boughs, an interconnection, criss-crossing of nature's finest display.
Even as we proceed today under a pewter sky bereft of sun unlike yesterday, a light scattering of wind coaxes sufficiently to rain a dusting of snow off an uncertain perch. Even larger branches are shedding the occasional clump, falling gracefully below to add to the trail's snowpack and enter our jacket collars. Soon we're aware that this intermittent fall has been joined by a light snowfall which, as we continue on our way intensifies, further enhancing the white embroidery surrounding us.
The winter hush we'd experienced in previous days appears to be missing. Some unknown change in the atmosphere? Sound is making its way through the ravine, especially as we ascend to the flats and hear the muffled sounds of construction and traffic reaching us, making their way through the trees. It's mild enough that we soon see a black squirrel halfway up a slender sapling, its form clearly visible on its insufficient perch. Our little dogs see it too, and race toward the tree, to watch as the squirrel leaps to the trunk of a great old pine and is soon lost to sight within its snowy heights.
In rapid succession as we tread forward, another two squirrels, leaping over the snowpack into the embrace of close-by trees, but these two are not silent like their black cousin. They scold us shrilly in rapid-fire squirrel ire at our presence in their territory. Not far from where they wax indignant a bevy of tiny chick-a-dees flick from one branch to another, sounding their song, forgiving of our presence.
Delving deeper into the forest, leaving the heights, we hear behind us the sonorous sound of church bells from the steeple on St.Joseph Boulevard. It must be noon. The sound follows us growing fainter, fainter, then ceases. We hear our own footsteps scrunching rhythmically, as we proceed down the hill toward a bissected trail, where we decide which way to proceed this day.
Another sound that we hear on occasion and always thrill to; the ghostly call of a train whistle from some point far in the distance, repeating itself in a melancholy slur as it approaches one crossing after another. Becoming, like the church bell, fainter and fainter until its sound is heard no more, leaving us nostalgiac in memory of our younger days when such sounds were a gentle reminder of technological progress.
Odd, how conflicted we feel about sounds signifying the presence of mankind and our inventions, as opposed to those of nature. How we prefer to regularly steal away from the reality of the present, the ever-present sounds and noises in constant reminder of our intrusive presence on this earth.
We thrill to the benign nature of the natural sounds which emanate from nature's creatures as we intrude upon their domain. Little wonder they express irritation with our presence, as we've pushed them further away from their habitant with our relentless occupation of land that was once theirs and ours, now rarely theirs and mostly ours.
posted by Pieface @ Wednesday, January 25, 2006
<< Home