The music stops .. the deck is quiet ..and I begin to hear the sound of birds ..and the swoosh of traffic on nearby Anapamu street. Words don’t come easy for me ..but I think sounds do. Sometimes, when I re-read my journal ..I hear a rhyme that I didn’t intentionally put there. Makes me think that language was built on sound patterns ..like the beat of African drums ..or the melody of bird songs. Nearby, a dog howls ..and I howl back ..it’s quiet again. I hear the couple arguing across the creek. I know they’re arguing even before I understand what they're saying.
“Where are you going with those (plants) ..?” she yells.
“I don’t know ..I’m just following your directions ..“Dear”.
“Well, how can you do that ..I haven’t made up my mind yet ..!”
“Oh, OK ..sorry (?)”
I get the feeling that she was just tossing out ideas ..and wants him to participate more in the planning process ..whereas he just wants to get the job done and go back to his beer ..so he’d like her remarks to be the last word. But I think there’s more to it than that. I say this because he and I have talked before .. he’s not interested in planting a garden by the creek .. we both agree that it should be kept natural. Like him, though ..I would probably keep my mouth shut too.
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