the highway traffic.
a mourning dove calling its mate.
a nail gun from the construction on the corner.
Steven's feet shuffling on the sidewalk as he plants peas and other garden items.
a leaf caught in the wind, tumbling along the street.
more birds, sparrows, songbirds, chuk-chuk, tweet-tweet.
a piece of paper with instructions for planting peanuts flapping in the wind.
the neighbor's cat, "puppy," always crying like she's miserable.
the wicker chair I'm sitting in as I shift my weight.
the water hose being dragged to the herb garden. the spritz-spritz as the nozzle is turned on.
a radial saw at the construction site. the trickle of water from the hose.
a harley-davidson motorcycle.
the wind in the trees.
more shuffling feet.
A siren far away, down the highway or east of here. lots of sirens can be heard from this porch because the emergency room is just on the other side of the interstate overpass.
the squeak of the water hose nozzle as it's twisted off; it sounds like a monkey.
a bird with a laughing chirp, no doubt happy because it is a beautiful day.
a passing car, rubber tires on pavement.
a harley-davidson, closer.
the siren continues, gets closer.
a revving engine as a car speeds along.
the birds still chirping, though the dove has stopped.
the siren bounces off of buildings and sends back an echo, almost a harmony of its own sound.
the sound of sandy dirt being swept off of a trail rock in the middle of the garden.
puppy gets up from her place in the sun, again miserable. she sits at the front screen door, meows when Steven walks near, he mimics her.
he's standing overlooking the garden, silent for a moment and then a rhythmic tapping on his jeans legs.
a whirring noise like a jet or maybe some sort of sleek vehicle on the highway.
the siren continues it seems to be moving further away now.
a cacophony of building noises, a machine gun firing of nails, a dropping of unneeded boards in the makeshift dumpster.
I hear ice in a glass. it must be an iced coffee. Steven hadn't finished his paper and coffee before we took off for the natural gardener this morning.
the whack of his screen door. his foot steps up the side of the house. shuffling of seed containers and paper to set his iced coffee down and pick up the paper. he sits then is up again.
the shuffle of his crocs across the porch down the sidewalk to the side of the house.
can I hear the sunlight? it is suddenly brighter. the birds seem to notice.
a bicyclist turns the corner, i hear the chain as he stops pedaling and coasts past the house admiring the garden (no doubt).
Steven is back, dragging his feet, removing his hat, swiping his hair.
a grackle has arrived, supervising the other birds. chuk-chuk-chuk.
the directions for peanut planting again flutter in the wind.
Steven adjusts the newspaper.
the wind blows a gust and the copper rectangles hanging from the yarn over the porch clang against each other.
the neighbor's windchime catches a breeze, lets out a soft chime.
the other neighbor opens the front door and lets the dog out.
Steven lifts the iced coffee, sips, sets it down on the front porch trunk with a clunk, gently clears his throat. I notice that I need to clear my throat. I try to resist but the urge is too strong. I clear my throat soft.
wind in the trees.
ice coffee clunk.
Steven's wicker chair crackling.
birds chirping.
neighbor walking out with her baby, talking to the dogs, off for a walk through the cemetery. I look up, she waves, I say "Hey, there." The baby chirps. Steven says---
