Sounds of the Day Leaving

I am sitting here on the point of my screened porch listening to the day leave. Squirrels crack nuts. Mocking birds, attempting to colonize the highest branch where they can lord it over all the other lower birds, scold. Wings flap. Even in January, bugs buzz. The sun lengthens shadows. Cars hum on Beach Boulevard, one, two, sporadic. Dogs bark behind the railroad tracks. A chirp, a trill, a squee. Leaves on the ground disturbed by animals, leaves in the air disturbed by animals. My husband’s feet on the asphalt returning from “just a short walk,” rolling pebbles, crunching grass across the yard, scuffling the gravel of the drive. No sound of the surf, the Gulf too calm. A duck quacks. The train whistles in the looooooong distance, and now nears, rumbling the tracks, a smooth, even building of momentum then the jagged, repeated, frantic whistle, warning of its arrival.

All of this, and the day is only four more minutes gone.

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