From where do I start this story? Is it from the picnic table in my backyard or perhaps from the not so quiet of our once public library? As you might have guessed, there is no quiet or silence in both locations.
the room’s ceiling fan —
60 cycle hum
From my back yard? It’s mostly the loud drone of the freeway. Tire noise, always there, even on a Sunday morning. Sometimes, it’s my neighbour on the other side of the hedge playing his old Elvis songs, likely from his 8-track tape machine. Remember those, boys and girls? You know the kind when you got a pause in the music as the player went from the end of a track to another. Yes, it kinda ruined the mood listening to Dark Side of the Moon.
a boy watching
It’s like the time I was enamoured by a young woman standing behind the counter at the library, finding the Kraft paper pouch at the back of the book and stamping it and the loan card. Everything a fluid motion. One practised every day, hour after hour. Once, she smiled at me, a fourteen-year-old smitten by her beauty, not noticing her engagement ring.
Nous sommes du Soleil
We love when we play*
* Lyrics from Ritual by Yes