Sounds

The sweltering days of summer are slowly releasing their oppressive grip on the upper Midwest. Blessed relief is blowing in from the north and I, for one, am doing cartwheels of joy (figuratively, of course...old ladies struggle with fancy tumbling). Gravity is tugging on colorful leaves, birds are gorging themselves for upcoming journeys and warm pots of soup burble away on the stove. Beleaguered air conditioners gasp a sigh of relief as their time of rest approaches and apples crisply adorn produce aisles. And, finally, windows are thrown open and fresh prairie air dislodges three months of trapped staleness.

One perk of open windows is the flow of sounds added to the usual mix of daily life. Chickadees chitter and chatter at bird feeding stations. Trees clap their leaves in response to the demanding winds. Trucks lumber down the street. Trains whistle and rattle along the tracks and dogs yap like town criers. Muffled conversations of neighbors float in the breeze. The sound of playing children fills the air with hope.

Our backyard neighbors have a trampoline for their three young, boisterous boys. Their conversations of play stream through my windows and make me smile. The sibling dynamics of my youth are obviously alive and well today. The oldest boy is usually the boss, calling the shots on whatever game they are developing. The youngest tearily protests the injustices of said games and the middle child tries to work out a compromise for all parties involved. All the while, the squeak of the trampoline keeps a steady beat.

Recently, the boys were playing a devised game of throw-the-ball-at-each-other-as-hard-as-you-can while bouncing on the trampoline. The game came dangerously close to collapsing with shouts of "Not fair" and "That hurts" when a neighborhood girl, pulling a wagon filled with house playing props, stopped by and joined the brothers. The oldest boy bailed out immediately, sensing an imminent imbalance in power. The wagon was loaded onto the trampoline and suddenly, the dynamics of play took a drastic turn. The young lady stated that they were going to play house. With that she proceeded to explain the roles and parameters of the next activity. From there, the play acting unfolded as the boys followed the lead of their neighborhood friend. The three children continued their pseudo-family re-enactment until the boys' mother called for them to come in the house.

My husband remarked that a psychologist would have a heyday analyzing the spontaneous dynamics of play that changed with the arrival of the girl. There were no adults orchestrating how things should be done. There were no video games demanding instant, prescribed reactions. There were no politically correct agendas forcing certain actions. The kids were just being kids, making up things as they went along. The girl wanted to feather the castle's nest and the boys wanted to slay dragons.

The best part of all was the sound of authentic play. It is sweet music to my ears, even if some of the notes are a little flat with discord.

Soon enough the frigid winds of winter will force me to close my windows again. Until then, let the music play.