Drone

A moment before the alarm clock wakes up the day to play the radio, there is a very quick hum that precedes it, almost imperceptible, and only those who are already awake before the alarm goes off can hear it.

Many cable boxes that are equipped to record TV programs hum even when the television is turned off. Televisions themselves, even when muted, are not totally silent. And I wonder if those wall-plugged pest repellant boxes emit an electronic drone that can actually be heard by humans, even when instructions say they cannot.

The street traffic drowns out the crickets, the mockingbirds drown out the cars and insects, and barking dogs, awakened in the middle of the night because their owners work the nightshift, drown out almost everything, except for the police helicopter chasing its spotlight.

Early in the morning, in stop-and-go traffic, the car heater is drowned out by the radio, turned down during a wireless call, while the inside of the driver’s mouth sloshes around coffee and whatever solid food was available in the kitchen. The cellphone and its matching bluetooth earpiece mimic each other’s beeps to tell the user that both are available.

At work, fluorescent lights have buzzed since they were invented, but are drowned out by clicking keyboards, printing printers, water coolers kicking in to refrigerate and heat the dispensed water, computer speakers being adjusted, computer monitors being degaussed, the dozens of distant and local telephones ringing, beepers ringing, PDAs ringing, iPhone and iPod sounds trying to escape from little holes drilled into little earplugs, other sounds trying to escape from little speakers that are snuck into little spaces, each cubicle and pod person trying to find a little sense of individuality in whatever little space they are given.

The lunchtime walk is one rapid wave after another of cars and trucks and service vehicles, intermittent processions of people rushing to maximize their midday breaks, the trees and wind and birds doing their best to call attention to themselves, doing their best to remind us what we were working for in the first place.

A few people will not be talking on their cellphones. Some will be sitting, doing nothing during that moment when the mind decides to reset itself.

During that moment everything becomes silent. The hundreds of dollars worth of electronics that live inside each available pocket or purse, at that moment, is muted by the noon sun forming a film of sweat on a forehead, a cheek, the tip of an eyelash. At that moment, when the wind reiterates its message, it has a better chance of being heard.