This Milwaukee Life
Moved Away
"Hear that?" At the bottom of Sheepwash Hill, Mom lifts her cell phone. "The peepers. Can't you hear them?" For seven generations we shared these songs in timber land near Crooked Creek. I press hot plastic between palm and ear. Through speaker's rasp, I strain to discern the singing snore, ascending criiick , throbbing purr a'thruming . . . so distant, and maybe only static. Little wonder our newborns crave maternal heartbeats against their apricot ears-- being selved so suddenly outside of most beloved sound. For the reader-- What sounds have shaped your experiences? Do you still hear those sounds in your everyday life, or have you--or they--moved? How does proximity to beloved places and/or people affect you? How have you navigated times of changing connections? I'd love to hear your thoughts if you want to share them in the comments. If you have work of your own that connects to these ideas, feel free to post a link. Poem...
Each photo has its particular beauty: the vivid and vivifying blue of the morning-glories (and the white wood behind, blackened with time and with the dark nail-heads); I'm guessing Lake Michigan in the second photograph?; and the beautiful apartment, which looks like a place of welcome and repose, of activity and refreshment.
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