It's summer time, and everyone, and their dog, has their windows open sharing what they normally do in the privacy of their own home, with the rest of the neighborhood.
We who are cooped up all winter, have stretched our boundaries beyond four walls, some beyond propriety. The sneezes shared, the coughing fits, the arguments with the spouse. Carried far past the open windows, into the street where they swirl in a angry dance with other summer noises, and then echo up and down the condo walls, gradually sneaking in and exploding in starlit bursts. This is living life large, in the city. Now at daybreak well before 5 am, and for hours at dusk the seagulls warn of imminent danger, every night relentless, without fail. Wailing constantly, a cacophony of screaming in a sandstorm. Not to be outdone, but barely heard over the gulls, the old guy across the street yells out at passersby to "shut the heck up." Mistaking the screaming seagulls for a cranked up TV. Motorcycles roar, as pipes bend to bursting, jarring, vibrating, and deafening. After they leave the sound hangs in the still air, while our ears readjust to normalcy. This is living life large, in the city.
When it all gets to much I escape. Where there is a stillness, a quietude, the beach calls me. Repeating waves rush foaming over rocks, and cover seaweed with a quieting insulation. A whisper is all that is heard over the tide. The gulls are soundless here, their calls stolen from their beaks before it reaches my ears. This is living life large, in the city.