Urban and Country Meditations

URBAN AND COUNTRY MEDITATIONS

Urban Meditation

Listen to a roadway–eyes closed–distinguish size shape make of car by sound–also speed and health of engine.

Country Meditation

Sit by the trees–what kind of tree makes what kind of sound?

(1981)

urban meditation

I’m sitting on a bench in front of the McCullough library in North Bennington, at the intersection of 67A and West Street. The day is grey, still, and quiet but for the cars. 

At first, I just listen to the cars going by, letting the sounds blur into one another. I can hear the redness of the approaching cars and blueness of those that have passed. The sound swells and dissipates; I can hear the rise of the road as the cars from the south approach.

I open my eyes, and match sounds to certain cars, trying to understand how the shape and size of the car affect its sound as it moves through the air. When I close my eyes, I can now hear the height of the car; the shorter sedans, the taller trucks. I am beginning to discern the distance of the car from the ground. A truck and a Jeep pass, their chassises raised considerably, and the sound of the air underneath the car is jarring, much different from others. The wheelbase of the car of the car affects the sound–a Smart car passes, and I am distinctly aware of its compactness and short wheelbase. It sounds like a compressed gust of wind, confined to a small area. The shape of the car is harder for me to hear, but I find that I can guess when the car is a truck and has only a cab. The way the air moves over the hood, up over the cab, and then down to pass over the bed can be faintly distinguished.

As I grow more familiar with the sound of the car moving through the air, I begin to pick up the sound of the cars’ engines, and the tires on the roadway.

I don’t like the sound of Subaru’s.

The engines belonging to trucks are deep and resonant, like the purr of a lion. Larger trucks rumble, especially as they turn onto 67A and gain speed. The cars without mufflers are immediately recognizable, the unpleasant noise of a carpet caught in a vacuum. 

Other noises are becoming apparent. The whine of squeaky brake pads, the creak of an old chassis, the tire that’s beginning to go flat. The road is just slightly wet with the melting ice and snow, but it doesn’t have much impact on the sound of the tires.

I find certain cars’ tires to have a strange crinkle, almost like the tires are sticking to the road and continually being pulled off. Do these cars still have on their snow tires? The sound is more like small rocks or sand hitting the underside of the car, or the inside of the wheel-wells. Perhaps these cars all have recently driven on a dirt road, and the debris caught in the treads are spraying the car body.

A truck approaches that sounds familiar; it passed by half an hour ago.

country meditation

The bareness of the trees and the still cold air make the sound of the cars in the valley below travel up to the blue trail where I’m walking. Though I’m surrounded by trees, a steady gust of traffic is all that can be heard besides the occasional call of a bird and the crunch of the snow underfoot.

Without wind, the trees are silent, save for the faintest of sounds as a pine needle falls to the ground. While walking, I pass a young maple tree, where a single brown leaf curled in on itself is precariously clinging to a branch. Though the sound of the wind is absent, its subtle presence can be seen as the single leaf is gently blown, scraping the trunk with a dry, stoic touch.