Silent sky

Travelling from urban to rural settings and back again on a semi-regular schedule these days, I have begun more than ever to appreciate the solitude of wide-open country. Tonight, shutting the ignition on my truck—a noisy diesel affair—after a four-hour drive from Ottawa, I stand under the night sky and take in the stillness of the heavens. A dog barks in the distance; the scent of earth. Nearby Slab Creek is running high following the let-up of heavy rains. The coyotes have begun their song.

I compare this moment to how I started my day in Ottawa, where I spend time lending a hand to an elderly parent. I am in the habit of quiet; grounding time especially early in the day wherever I am, to inhale a peace I hope to sustain through the hours. Coffee at the same time is sometimes not a bad idea. So this morning, rather than coffee chez moi, I headed to a nearby popular coffee hangout.

Now don’t get me wrong. I’ve been known to out-hang the best of the hanger-outers, especially with a sketchbook in hand. And I’m also right in there with the socializing and meetingup do-wop. But I guess this morning after being away from the environment of a chain de jours urban café, it struck me more than ever how the world can be such an in-your-face noisy place.

The café-stew of sounds: music mixed with the hiss of the high voltage espresso machine mixed with the dragon roar of the hot steamers, all of it simmering as a backdrop to what I figure to be at least 41 individual conversations occurring simultaneously with a guaranteed no more than 10 of them actually being folks talking face to face. The rest of the chatter would be considered private conversations in any other world.

Like the guy over there in the corner comfortably sprawled in the winged back chair? He could plainly do away with holding a cell phone to his face. Whoever he is talking to, wherever he or she is, could easily hear him detail his mortgage renewal and spousal issues without the added cost of a phone. And the lady seated one chair over? Her phone companion must be a stand-up comic. She’s in a tears-in-her eyes, rolling on the floor, outloud fit of laughter: Maybe she’s the spouse the wingedback guy keeps talking about? Share the joy with the rest of us, why not.

Then there are 12, I count them, 12 Skype conversations: people talking to an image on the computer screen and while they wear an earpiece, it apparently escapes them how they are voice-projecting big enough to overreach the enveloping riot. I might be wrong here, but I have the feeling that at least two of them sitting at separate tables nearby are Skyping each other. Something comparable to the mom and daughter over by the window sharing a table where both are on the phone to other parties.

Makes me wonder why no one has yet to come up with an e-salon. Something with theatre style seating where you have a laptop-cum-cup holder and you get to sit in a row, shoulder-to-shoulder with a host of similarly focused coffee-goers who may ask to be excused once in awhile and crawl over you as they go for a washroom break. In their absence, a neighbour could take over the conversation with their waiting Skype-mate. Share the technology and get to meet new folks, right? Besides, the idea would save floor space, and being designed with a glass-wall enclosed sound barrier, would save the rest of us waiting in the line-up from feeling like we’re nosing in on someone’s personal space.

While the cacophony of this apparent day-care for adults is none is of my business and I had chosen to be there, I took the occasion to ponder how noise affects me. My mind wants to play in the chatter and gets critically observant. Oh sure, the ambulance lady in front of me needs to be on the phone; it’s part of the job. And buddy in the suit with a name tag around his neck should be spared. He needs a tablet in his face to remember how he orders his coffee. His double macchiato with added shots of whatever would be hard for anyone to remember: I would need a tablet too. And the two elderly ladies in front of him? I mean, gawd bless, give them space, eh? They can be forgiven for shouting their order for a chocolate chip supreme cookie for two because they have trouble hearing. They need to consult for a few minutes and to get the smiling barista to repeat only a few times what their total payment is. I’m ok with it. Or at least need to get over it. It’s a cross-section of modern life.

And all of this reminds me why I shouldn’t sit down to write immediately after a tedious windshield-wiper-slapping commute. Or then again, better the time to get what’s on my mind said, right? So the thing is, it comes down to this: Silence; and how I crave it; And how we lean on the strength of it to keep mind-peace. Makes me wanna just hold here to the porch tonight; do nothing more than take in the heavens to the sounds of the brook spilling over the rock face; you know, the brook just over there, running beyond the memory of the stars.