It has been said the anticipation of a good thing is better than the thing itself. Something analogous may be true of how the present is poisoned by dread, of knowing a bad thing is coming.
It is stunningly beautiful this morning; cool, sunny, a light breeze and the air is fragrant with the scent of violets. I could hear various birdsongs including the cooing of a dove. But it is Sunday morning. I knew in a few minutes the Methodist church would begin blaring out 19th-century revival hymns on their damned electronic carillion (audible for over a mile). Not long after that, the gas engines of a dozen lawnmowers.
Sure enough, the bells have already begun. I give it ten more minutes before the mowers start up.
There are two mowers in action when I got home from church at 12:30pm.
I’ve found it can be very difficult for me to feel in the moment while in the city. It seems that, usually, the noises, smells, and rhythms of the city are things the mind wants to escape from, rather than accept and go with.
That’s precisely why I’m nocturnal. I get to enjoy a world without lawnmowers. Tis bliss.
You just let me know if you need me to have a spectacular accident featuring a truck, that carillion, and an errant GPS navigator.
I know damn well that if I blasted my music loud enough to be heard for a mile I’d have the police on my doorstep in no time, so I don’t see why churches should get away with it. I’m cursed by a nearby church as well. It’s far enough away that when the bells reach me they’re distorted and out of tune, but close enough to wake me up on Sunday mornings. Ugh.
Heh. :coolgrin: Or it wouldn’t be hard to cobble up a simple surface-to-surface missile that would home in on the sound. Launch it from the parking lot of a competing church, we could start a very entertaining turf battle.
Damn straight. Wait until someone builds a mosque and starts broadcasting the ‘call to prayer’ five times a day.