Our new climate, the paper says, will silence many songbirds. In a lifetime or two, all we’ll hear are hawks and crows. Crows and hawks are all I heard, anyway, having lost my high-frequency hearing long ago to rock and roll. Though it may have been the rifle range at summer camp. Or, a decade later, the hard enterprise of my hometown’s shipyard.

It’s a strong habit, not hearing, and my new hearing aids alone are not enough. My audiologist says I’ll catch myself saying, “What?” when a moment’s reflection might have allowed my brain to process sounds into comprehension.

What does it all mean? The leaves now rustle. The house settles and my knees creak. A scarlet tanager sings from a wood’s high catafalque.

3PictureScarletTanager

Photo of a dead scarlet tanager from USGS Bee Inventory and Monitoring Lab. Used by permission.

2 thoughts on “A low-pitched future

  1. My own amplification aid has four legs: I hear you. Quite depressing enough that an abrupt Fall has silenced the thick sound-cloud of night insects. (How can I thank you for the USGS Bee Inventory Flickr stream? Marvelous!)

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