A low-pitched future

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.

By Peter

After stints as a trial lawyer and a church worker, Peter Stephens has settled in as a Virginia high school English teacher. Peter has read several books and poems. He wrote none of the posts below filed under "Passages." Click the link at the end of each post to see it in the context of the author's original post.

2 comments

  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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