The Hum & The Drone

There's always something magical about watching walls of weather approach you. Early this morning, Brian and I stood shivering on our patio, our eyes gazing at the southwest horizon. A snow squall was on its way and we watched it approach like a wave. It started with chunky snowflakes coming straight down from the sky and then a whirlwind of sideways-flying flakes depriving us of our view of the horizon. It was a brief white-out.

I've mentioned before that snow has a sound. I'm not talking about the pfts of it landing on pavement or pelting against windows. I'm talking about some droning hum that comes from the sky. As a child, my mother and I would always go for a late-night walk in the snow, especially during snow storms. The night-sky would be red with snow and we would typically walk the several blocks to the park near the Allegheny River. We'd sit on a bench and admire the lights from riverside factories reflecting off the water. I remember the droning hum back then. Now that I'm an adult, I realize that it's not the sound of snow on its way but the hum of a city, alive in the night. Not the voices, not the traffic, but the hum of buildings and factories, alive with their industry, be it emitting steam from stacks or the complicated machinery within them.

I heard the hum when I was on the patio this morning with Brian. I teased, saying it was the sound of the snow coming. Oddly, a few strange, alarming sounds did occur before the squall arrived. I don't know how to explain them.

Today went by quickly; I did a lot. I ran a few miles on the dreadmill at the gym and ran some various errands (today was a snow-day at work; however, I ended up working a little bit, regardless). When all my work was done for the day, I went to the local library to hibernate in the Pennsylvania Room--a room containing awesome books about the geology, history, natural history, and landmarks of Pennsylvania. I had the room to myself, so I sat in its musty shadows and thumbed through geologic maps. I started getting sleepy. I checked out a few books (two books of poetry by Diane Ackerman and a book by John McPhee) and went home, feeling exhausted (again!).

I started reading Diane Ackerman's book of poetry The Planets: A Cosmic Pastoral.

It's one of her earlier books and I personally prefer her non-fiction prose. I'd like to read more of her books this year, as well. I learned today that she spent a portion of her life in Allentown, PA. In the first poem of the book, she mentions the Lackawanna (a river in northeast PA), so I had to look up her ties to PA.

Although I accomplished a lot today, I didn't do nearly everything I'd hoped. I always expect too much from myself, from time. Sleepiness has been an unwelcome guest, humming into my ear. I go outside, allowing the loud cold to awaken me, allowing the low drone of it all to envelope me.