i sit outside when i am home alone for the peace and quiet of enjoying the air without any interruption. as i listen i think about how my surroundings sound like a piece in a contemporary art museum. the leaves high in all the trees rustle the loudest next to me but in and out buzz motors, drifting in from the highway driving cars, a mile away, and planes crossing the sky are no bigger than the gold finches and the cardinals and the indigo bunting flying by. they are chirping too from their hideout in the bushes and the boughs. none of it seems synchronous but it is lulling me slowly, trance-like. the trees seem to be breathing together, inhaling gusts of wind into their branches, exhaling them to the west. it is raining now so I have to go back inside.