Friday, November 21, 2008

If my mind could make a sound

My workspace today was an old attic room where the rain was sloshing against the window pains all afternoon long and pinging against the paint-peeled shutters without mercy. The room was drafty and dim. My work takes me there sometimes. It is a familiar space but rather solitary. It would be a perfect place to write fiction -- if that was my purpose there. Alas, I had to concentrate on the so-called real world.

As the rain pittered and pattered and the wind hollered a bit, another sound came through the glass. It was the wailing of freight trains winding their way east. As I type-toed my way south towards the weekend, the trains warned long and lonely. For some reason the horns and grinding of metal-on-metal had a particularly loud and melancholy sound today. Of course I took it as a sign of something, a warning directed at me, like maybe I should be extra careful when mincing garlic or pay close attention at four-way stops, and watch my tongue amongst sensitive relatives. When I brought it up later, my husband told me that when the air is cold and the humidity of high, sound is magnified. A little physics experiment come to life. Well, scientific explanation or not, those trains are still singing in my ear bones. I decided it's not a melancholy sound after all. In fact, if my mind could make a sound when ideas join together and take me someplace I've never been, could never even dream of going, but somehow end up there anyway, it would sound like trains on a wet, cold day.

An entirely different sound: The Flight of the Conchords. Love these guys.


Jeremy Edwards said...

What a wonderful transformation of melancholy into mind adventure!

Kirsten Monroe said...

Hi Jeremy and thank you! What do you know, just like that the sun is out again.