The year in sound

The year begins with a silence so full it is its own sound

That is broken only by the eerie howling of coyotes – carried through the thin winter air and piercing even the tightly closed doors and windows of the house, simultaneously frightening and enthralling me.

And quiet reigns until the spring peepers suddenly and incessantly chirp to announce their hatching in early March, signaling that the deepest of winter has passed.

Then the songbirds begin their morning chorus.  When I scan the tree branches to identify the most melodic of their sounds, I find a cardinal.

In May, the bullfrogs grace the evening with their smooth and low solos, backed up by hundreds of amphibian cousins, to lull me to sleep.

The crickets take over the soundtrack on warm evenings and carry it almost to morning.  Only to be overcome by the cicadas in late summer, with their hypnotic but deafening chant.

Crisp autumn mornings are graced by the gobbles of turkeys, their pitch descending the scale as they call to each other.  Then the chilling howls of the coyotes return with the frost.

Until it is time for silence to close out another year.