Sound
I’ve been having a lot of conversations with people in different areas of my life about sound: hearing people, listening to people, what white noise helps and hurts, and in general what we do with aural input. It’s an interesting conundrum that we don’t have very much opportunity to be surrounded by silence: our houses have heaters, refridgerators, other electronic things that kick on. Out in our yards, we hear traffic, dogs, wind, rain, snow. At work we hear a multitude of other sounds (some of which we wish we couildn’t).
So it was pretty amazing that when I went to South Pole, it was even more difficult to get away from sound. The plane ride down is noisy enough to require ear plugs, which allows you to have a constant din and no other sounds. At the Pole, there’s always noise–heavy machinery, the power plant, the water plant, or the constant wind in your ears if you’re outside. Inside, it’s damn near impossible to get away from people, even in your own single room–for the most part, each room has a modular wall that can be removed for couples, but I could hear every snort and sniffle from the guy in the room next to me, which makes me wonder what he heard from my room when I wasn’t paying attention to being totally silent. The sound of the snow, however, was unique, and one that I feel like one poem just isn’t enough about.
So, a first draft posted up for a day. I’m still working on the end.
The Sound of Snow at the Pole
(poof!)