Radar Not AvailableAn element of this house: it sits close to one of the local highways. The road itself is cradled down in the valley, and while it can be a bit noisy, I never notice it when inside. It asserts itself on the back porch a bit, somewhat like having a public white noise generator for our little neighborhood. City living, I suppose; I would not trade it away for leaving this place. The odd thing is the affect of the weather.
The amount of ruckus that climbs the steep hill to my home is highly affected by the wind. Most days, the wind comes galloping up the valley from the river, carrying most of the evidence past. Sometimes though, the whips backwards over these hills, and the rumbles of cars and busses fill the yard and shake the herb patch. The water in the air does things, too: on sere days, the tumult of the parkway is hollow, distant. When the air is thick and wet, the sound puffs up and smears all over everything, making chats in the hammock difficult. If you like, the Steelers could be considered a weather phenomenon; after games when the valley is chocked with cars going nowhere, the road noise drops to nothing and the silence is kind (unless they lost, of course: then it is just silent).
When the sky is a puzzle with swirling motes of snow, a quiet blanket is thrown on all and the growls of the downshifts from the trucks are distant beasts. In the snow, it becomes a mystery up here.
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