Some mornings I wake up to the sound of the wind rustling in the leaves through an open window and the gentle lull of the lake's water lapping the shore. In this barren land of sand, I hear the Canadian countryside, clear as day.
Not in my head.
Just there.
Sometimes I hear church bells. In this land of mosques and call to prayer, I hear church bells toll, clear as day.
Not in my head.
Just there.
Once in a while I hear my Dad singing. Never a whole song, and I never catch the tune. I can't ask him what song it is he's singing because he's gone. But I hear his voice, clear as day.
Not in my head.
Just there.
A few weekends ago, when our kitten was kept at the vet's under observation, I could hear the little charm on her collar gently clanging, the way it does when she's running to her food bowl. Clear as day.
Not in my head.
Just there.
These are the sounds that keep me alive, I guess.
These invisible sounds.
Some might call them hope.
