I’ve heard the silence in the wilderness, and usually marveled at how non-silent it is (sure it’s quiet and lovely, but there’s always rustling or snapping or breeze or rain or whatever).
And I’ve heard the noise in the big city, and often marveled at how steady and inert it is (sure it’s noise all the time, but it can sound reassuringly meaningless and neutral).
The really amazing thing is the exceptions. In the wilderness it might be a howling blizzard. In the City it could be anything, and it’s awesome too: most recently, the broad silence that occurs in NYC the morning of the Marathon when the dull roar of traffic for blocks around disappears while my avenue and its side streets are all closed by dawn.
I really related to Banks’s keen senses. You can really tune in, regardless of where.
I’ve heard the silence in the wilderness, and usually marveled at how non-silent it is (sure it’s quiet and lovely, but there’s always rustling or snapping or breeze or rain or whatever). And I’ve heard the noise in the big city, and often marveled at how steady and inert it is (sure it’s noise all the time, but it can sound reassuringly meaningless and neutral). The really amazing thing is the exceptions. In the wilderness it might be a howling blizzard. In the City it could be anything, and it’s awesome too: most recently, the broad silence that occurs in NYC the morning of the Marathon when the dull roar of traffic for blocks around disappears while my avenue and its side streets are all closed by dawn.
I really related to Banks’s keen senses. You can really tune in, regardless of where.