DISCHORD
I cannot think of anything better than the sound of the dip of oars and the ripples of water against the bows of small rowing boat, wandering up a still river, overhung by drooping trees. Or similarly, lying down below at anchorage and listening to the sea swashing against the hull of a boat. Of course, like most other people I like the soft rhythm of the waves on the seashore and the rage of a gale with the shriek of the wind and the crash and thunder of the water.
I like a silent room, an empty room with the slow tick of a large grandfather clock and somewhere far, far, away, the sound of people but just on the edge of my hearing.
I like to walk absorbed, hearing nothing but my own thoughts and then pause to realise the trees and the bushes around me are a place of birdsong; a music that startles me with the need to listen and then to become aware of the wind and the cars far across the firth.
I love, though some hate it, the sound of rooks in the trees opposite my house, especially when, almost like shout, they all rise up and fly off in the morning and I will be lying in bed, ideally with hours yet before I need to get up.
And of course, who could forget the sound of trains in the night, the whistle as they pass the junction and I imagine again being tucked up in a narrow bunk bed wafting through the night to some new adventure.
Maybe better is that moment when we hear James shrieking upstairs when, for a moment, we think something terrible has happened, until we realise he is laughing with people across the world, connected on his computer.
When Charlotte is bored and decides to be very sweary and annoy her mum, and her mum swears back in turn and Charlotte cuddles up to her upside down and is dunted away and they are both giggling at each other and faintly annoyed in the perfect safety of their family, I am at ease.
I like to hear a fog horn late in the day on a foggy day. I like the liquidity of some music and the blare and excitement of other music. I like the sound of Dash the dog squeaking softly in his sleep on some doggy adventure.
I don’t like it when everyone is talking so loudly that you cannot hear even one of your thoughts. I hate the sound of anger and I hate the stale, cruel, professional, voice of control.
(Photo's from Jeans Bothy Photo walk Helensburgh May 2023)