Sounds of the morning

On my trip home from Houston, I traveled through the Independence Trail Region, the Hill Country Region and the Pecos Trail Region before going home. I was following the route of old Texas 90, which went through communities with retaining the influence of their first settlers from Alsatia, through cotton fields, desolate flatlands, and spectacular canyons. Yesterday morning, I stopped at Langtry, Judge Roy Bean territory just across the river from Mexico. There I was reminded of one of the things I cherish about living out here--the sound of absolute silence. How rare it is; how utterly meditative. How impossible it is to experience most everywhere else.

Remembering that experience on my run at the Van Horn Cemetery this morning, I listened for the sounds of a small town starting a new day. There was the rustle of rabbits in the desert, children playing in the schoolyard, then the morning bell, then the marching band practicing for tomorrow's game. The horse neighing in his stall just outside the cemetery, dogs barking, the sound of my feet on the dirt paths, the "hello" from the woman walking behind me, the birds (mostly house finches this morning). Then the train burst through town, the county trucks of workers drove in, and they got their weedeaters out to groom the pathways. And thankfully, by the time they got started, my run was over and I headed home for breakfast.