Around Home, Sounds of the Known

 

This patch of land which is my place –

my unit, my yard, my bit of street,

and, if you like, my slice of sky …

the view, too, over the road

to those blue mountains looming

above the houses opposite: a string, 

a ridge, an endless, undulant panel 

(where, if you try, you can discern a dragon

along the top edge) – is loud with sound.

Outside, the sounds are all around,

and varied. There's a hurried run of feet

along the bitumen street, pounding

with a firm beat. There’s the low growl 

of a car passing, or slowing for home.

On warm afternoons, the little kids

across the way come out to play

on their bikes in the driveway, supervised

by the watchful eyes of mum and dad.

Sometimes their big sister is with them.

Her calm, light voice intercedes between 

the little ones’ bright squeals and yells.

As night arrives, they trundle their bikes inside

with reluctant rumble. The street goes quiet

behind doors, while the lights come on

and the dark settles, widens. Now the sound

of footsteps moves, tapping, across floors 

of lino or wood or shuffles, muffled by rugs.

My cat stretches, scratches her carpeted post:

a long rasp of claws from each front paw.

Then she pads across the floor for her food,

which she chews with a soft scrunch. Me, 

I clatter utensils on the bench, making sure

she’s well fed. Otherwise she might treat me

to a long, strident miaow, loud enough to tell 

the whole street I don’t feed her well! (But then 

she purrs, while we snuggle in front of the telly.)

NaPoWriMo 2025, Day Fourteen, in which we are asked to write of the sounds of a particular place, excluding references to birdsong, and using a conversational tone and slant rhymes. (My slant rhymes don't necessarily happen at the ends of lines. I also use a few full rhymes.) 

I got quite carried away and forgot all about the stipulation 'to imagine the “music” of a place without people in it'!