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Sound

Sound

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“Abbey?”

“Mhmm.”

“It’s unusual seeing you sitting out here alone, what’s up?”

“Oh, I was listening.”

“Ok, why?”

“I was with Linda.”

“That doesn’t explain much, but some.”

“I try not to take life for granted you know?”

“Where’s this going?”

“In the space of an hour, she’d heard sounds, that we (I) obviously take for granted.  I’m not sure how she does it, but she does.”

“Give me a for instance.”

“For instance, while we were sitting together on the park bench, she identified at least a dozen different voices, all children playing together.  Not only did she identify the various nuances in the voices, some were happy, others dramatic, some quiet but she explained feelings to go along with what she heard. One child while talking had a depth of sadness that as a sighted person I could discern, but I found it incredible that Linda could tell the depth of her unhappiness.  She was right.  The little girl was sitting on the sidelines, wanted to play but was smaller than the others and couldn’t keep up.  She stopped running and trying.  There was such a dejectedness about her that it startled me.  It was also touching that (I guess it was her sister) ran back, grabbed her hand and tugged her along with the others chasing after a kite.”

“Linda described the entire scene and I don’t know how she knew there was a kite, because it was high in the sky, I didn’t notice any sound associated with it.  A man and his wife were racing around and the children in the park were so delighted they joined in, which the couple didn’t seem to mind, but invited.”

“So this got you to where you are now?”

Opening her eyes, Sienna continued, “I realized that even though I can see and obviously hear, I have been rushing through life, I needed to take a moment to connect again, with all the sounds I hear which are so precious and which add so much to any experience.”

“Were, are you feeling sad for Linda then?”

“On the contrary.  I realized that she hears and absorbs far more in the space of a few minutes than I do in hours.”

“First, you don’t take much for granted.  Secondly, it’s always good to touch base and appreciate what we have.”

“I have to write an essay for the professor so I decided the subject would be about appreciation, hearing in particular and to do that, I need to take time to listen, really listen to what I hear and describe it in colours and nuances.”

“Sounds like a winner to me.”

“I thought I’d interview Linda as part of the thesis, describing the difference between us, not all blind people, just us.”

 

 

 

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Slog

Slog

What a descriptive word!  When  you say “slog” you hear the sound,  the gooshing of mud or snow, you feel the weight of the word as your legs become tired from effort!

I was sincerely and desperately lost! The map did me no good.  Here I was out in the forest, lured by my best friend who supposedly knew what she was doing!  Alas, I found out to my detriment, this was not the case!  We had trudged up monumental hills, then down.  We crossed two streams and a rushing river following what we thought was the path out of his nightmare.

As we slog through the mud I can’t help but wonder at that moment of insanity when I’d agreed to accompany her on this worthwhile but now futile journey.  Originally having acquiesced to raise money for another worthy cause, this one hers, we had begun with light steps and happy hearts. However, as the miles passed, my legs tired, my feet were sore from rubbing along the side of the oversized shoe.  The slog did not seem quite as worthwhile.

It would be dark in another couple hours, we would definitely have to stop soon and light a fire.  I wondered if she’d brought matches.  We must find a place for the night.  Luckily I’d brought a heavier set of clothes to change into or add on as the case may be.

She wasn’t speaking to me, she slogged along silently.  Miffed, no.  Angry, yes.  I’d chided not berated, or so I thought, but she’d taken it differently.  Perhaps she felt a tad guilty about the situation we were in.  We had to get out of this mess and her co operation was essential.

“Maggy, we need to camp for the night and soon. It’s not feasible to slog through the bush after dark.”

She stopped walking, I stopped alongside her.  “You’re right.  I’m sorry.”

“No need, my friend, no need.  We’ll start a fire, hunker down and make our way out at first light, right?”

With hope in our heart, and humming a song, we gathered twigs and small dry branches and started the fire.  We huddled close feeling the chill. Breaking out what little we had for bedding, we slept close to the fire, taking turns through the night to keep it going.

We were awakened by sound.  “What the hell is that?”  Noise, lots of it.  As it moved nearer, we identified voices. Hopping to our feet we stood and stared toward the direction the voices seemed to be  coming from.

Through the heavy underbrush, a dozen people, men and women surged.  A whoop of delight rose in the air so loud it could deafen.

“Alas the lost is found!”  One of the spectators of joy announced.

A grateful Maggy  delightfully relieved asked, “How did you know where to find us?”

“You left a trail a mile wide.  Couldn’t miss the slogging path you took.  What possessed you to turn left at the “y” juncture instead of right as indicated?”

We looked sheepishly at one another.  That was another story.

 

 

 

 

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