Katydid, or Tommy's Mind Gets Maudlin' at 2:15 AM
Katydid, or Tommy's Mind Gets Maudlin' at 2:15 AM
A little meditation, katydid style
I sat out on the tailgate of my truck this evening after getting home from work. Sat on the tailgate, and just listened to the night. The weather's agreeable. It's been muggy as hell, even in the middle of the night, lately. Tonight it's cool, with a light breeze. Perfect night to commune with the katydids.
How many of you get katydids? Let me tell you that we've got them by the thousands up here on the hill. I've heard them for years, but every now and then their volume, the sheer intensity of the wall of noise they create, will give me a bit of pause.
I can remember an uncle, when visiting the folks, commenting on the noise, saying he'd learned to sleep in cities with car horns and sirens. He'd learned how to sleep with the El in Chicago. He even learned how sleep through a neighbor who insisted on working on motorcycles in the wee hours of the morning. But the noise the katydids made had kept him up for the duration of his visit with us.
And that's with the windows closed and a log wall between him and the bugs.
I sat out there and listened. There's a pattern. It's almost a symphony. There's a lead, and there's a counterpoint. There's a definite rhythm. Sometimes the tempo changes, sometimes a different section will take a lead. Sometimes you hear it: Katy Did. Katy Didn't. I'm glad wikipedia noted that. I've had people respond snidely when I told them I thought that's why they were called "Katydids." It always comes back to that pattern.
Sat on the tailgate. Wrapped myself in the noise. Let it climb on top of me. Envelope me. Let it smooth out whatever junk I've had running through my head, lately. A little bit of katydid meditation.
We should find a way to bottle this mess.
Take two tai chi tablets, and down it with a bottle of katydid meditation.
A little meditation, katydid style
I sat out on the tailgate of my truck this evening after getting home from work. Sat on the tailgate, and just listened to the night. The weather's agreeable. It's been muggy as hell, even in the middle of the night, lately. Tonight it's cool, with a light breeze. Perfect night to commune with the katydids.
How many of you get katydids? Let me tell you that we've got them by the thousands up here on the hill. I've heard them for years, but every now and then their volume, the sheer intensity of the wall of noise they create, will give me a bit of pause.
I can remember an uncle, when visiting the folks, commenting on the noise, saying he'd learned to sleep in cities with car horns and sirens. He'd learned how to sleep with the El in Chicago. He even learned how sleep through a neighbor who insisted on working on motorcycles in the wee hours of the morning. But the noise the katydids made had kept him up for the duration of his visit with us.
And that's with the windows closed and a log wall between him and the bugs.
I sat out there and listened. There's a pattern. It's almost a symphony. There's a lead, and there's a counterpoint. There's a definite rhythm. Sometimes the tempo changes, sometimes a different section will take a lead. Sometimes you hear it: Katy Did. Katy Didn't. I'm glad wikipedia noted that. I've had people respond snidely when I told them I thought that's why they were called "Katydids." It always comes back to that pattern.
Sat on the tailgate. Wrapped myself in the noise. Let it climb on top of me. Envelope me. Let it smooth out whatever junk I've had running through my head, lately. A little bit of katydid meditation.
We should find a way to bottle this mess.
Take two tai chi tablets, and down it with a bottle of katydid meditation.
posted by Tommy at
02:14
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