I carefully maneuver the car to the pasture gate to unload a couple of bales of hay for my six horses. Opening the door, the coolness of the coastal air greets me and becomes my titillating hostess for the evening. Its crispness teases at the cheeks and tingles in the nostrils, inviting a familiar autumn-time nostalgia, a lighthearted feeling of laughter and happy voices. It brings hope of good things just around the corner.
Reflecting the clean sharpness of the air, the sounds that normally fade into the background become strikingly bold, untempered by sight and thought. I become mesmerized by the clunking of feed buckets hitting together as I walk, the swish-swooshing of a water trough running over before I can get to it, the rattling of pellets as I pour them into their hard containers, and the rumble of the hay cart as its worn metal wheels scrape across the packed gravel road.
Filled with youthful exhilaration, I’m surrounded by sound that is bewitched. It has become a wild musical symphony formed from the ordinary, amazingly alive, and delightful to the depths of the soul.