October 24, 2012
Last week, I went out to see friends and hear a great band play. I saw lots of folks I knew and met some new ones, all of our voices growing louder to hear one another over the amazing music. Before long, it was too loud to talk and that suited me fine. Sometimes you just need to soak in sound, let harmony and melody mix in your brain, feel the drum reverberate through your chest.
I left the bar late and found myself stunned by the sudden silence into which I’d tumbled. My ears rang as I walked to my car. It was an exquisite night: finally, actually cool, dry, the merest sliver of moon, like the edge of a plate perched high above the world. Fall in South Carolina.
As I got close to my car, I said aloud, “Hi, Daddy.”
I’m not sure why.
Maybe I was overcome by the beauty of the night all around me.
Maybe I was happy and wanted him to know it.
Maybe I was calling out because I wished he was there.
Maybe the reason doesn’t matter.
From the darkness, from a tree near my car, a songbird sang out.
Then, just as suddenly, a chorus of birds further away answered back.
Then, the songbird sang out once more.
And then, quiet.