There are tiny birds who flickle
from branch to branch saying “Psst! Psst!”
and teasingly disappear from sight.
You’ll miss the slow beewing hum
if you walk too fast or heavily.
The list of sounds I love has grown shorter
as my list of years accomplished grows.
Silence tops the list,
followed in no particular order by
susurrations of wind
and the chimes and trees it disturbs,
water in tricklets or waves,
voices twined in sacred and vulgar song.
I sometimes wish for synesthesia
so I could understand if my new fondness for the color blue
is because it sounds like all those things.