I may not be much of a cook but I can spot the evidence of food when I see it.
David L. Harrison
head flung back,
inside his mouth,
tite goes south,
we know it’s coming
without fail —
admiring it on
If you haven’t done this lately, close your eyes and listen to the world around you. I have a dear friend who is blind. He recognizes my voice even if we haven’t talked for a while. Not only that he recognizes the voices of everyone else he knows. He’s incredible. Sometimes I look at a face and wonder who it is even though I know perfectly well that I know that person. Yet my sightless friend greets people immediately wherever he meets them. I’m always in awe.
Today we got three inches of rain in about an hour. This evening I sat on my patio. It was pleasant there in spite of feeling moisture from my chair soaking through my pants. Oh well. I closed my eyes to hear better. This is what I heard.
Water rushing over the spillway from the neighboring lake into ours.
A robin singing loudly. Really loudly.
A crow somewhere off in the distance. Why hadn’t I heard it before?
Something else — a tree frog? — singing in a soprano voice. I would never have heard it with my eyes open.
I might have heard more but I rushed in here to tell you about it. Listening, really listening, is not only the world of the blind. It’s also the world of the poet, the musician, the composer, the singer. I am not in the least surprised that my sightless friend is a wonderful musician and singer. Or that so many of our most talented and creative people through the ages have relied on other senses, including what they hear, to communicate their feelings to the world.
I’m grateful that I can open my eyes and see again, but the act of closing them and listening . . . well that’s a powerful connection between my brain and the world around me.