When the wind rushes headlong into the trees, Nelson
Doolittle stretches his ears, closes his eyes, and watches his mind
scramble a frenetic dance in an effort to put a handle on this
newly-created sound.
It
is the sound of the ocean one hundred giant steps behind Aunt Deedee's
summer cottage.
"Mother may I?"
"Yes, you may."
It is a sound that, when he hears it from indoors, makes
him peek out the window, expecting to see rain landing on the sidewalk.
It is a sound that always surprises him. It is a sound he grew up
with, always familiar but always different, so that whenever he hears
it he always has to look around to reaffirm its source. This sound is
not of the present, but one that always sings of past experiences. It
is the sound dinosaurs made on their way to extinction. It is the echo
of Jacob's wrestling match.
Even the birds stop their musings when the wind and leaves
raise their voices as one. It is the sound of satin petticoats worn by
Catholic schoolgirls moving to prayer. It is the sound of children
walking through recklessly discarded Christmas wrappings as fathers
look for affirmation.
"Are you happy?"
"Oh yes, thank you, Papa."
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On hot summer days it is the sound of a thousand wood
sprites laughing as if they finally got the joke. In the fall it is
the sound his grandmother made busily preparing Thanksgiving dinner. It
is a sound that always makes Nelson smile.
It is a sound that never sits still long enough for him to
truly capture or firmly attach a label to, like the love he harbors for
his children.
Whenever his wife talks about cutting down the two big
maples in the back yard, Nelson always changes the subject, or speaks
of the benefits of shade on the utility bills. He never just tells her
no.
He would like to tell her the real reason: that the trees
sing to him, that they carry him up into their arms and tell him
stories. If he did that, Nelson knew she would look up at him through
lowered eyebrows and say, "You're full of it," and the trees would be
gone.
| Alan
B. Capasso lives in Gettysburg, OH, where he maintains his art studio.
His day job is developing motivational award systems for high
schools. For the past seven years he has been deeply involved
with the Saint Mary's Youth group, a constant source of joy and
grace. Alan and his wife, Julie, have been married for twenty six
years and have assisted in bringing six children to the planet.
Their fourth grandchild is due in July 2005. |
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