I am lucky to live in this sleepy backwater and call the ocean my neighbour. The transition of the soundscape from night to morning today was a timely reminder. In the early hours of the morning I was awoken to the chirpy twang of drunken tourists. Apparently when you have walked as far as my flat you need to stop and debate the inadequacies of rural taxi services. Eventually the debate moved on and peace returned.
At 6 am I awoke naturally, there was barely a man made sound. The ocean was singing its glorious tune as it lapped lazily at the shore, almost as if the lack of an audience gave nature an opportunity to take it easy. I laid there and considered just how lucky I am to have that soundtrack and how convenient it is that last nights drunks won’t rise till much later. I think I made twenty minutes before a car passed and probably another 20 before the next one, that’s a rural Sunday for you. As I lay drinking my tea and just taking pleasure in the sounds that surround me I detected another sound. Under the sound of the ocean was another tone, softer but insistent. The sound was that of brushing, like a groom brushing his steed. It wasn’t a visiting horse but the sound of the street sweeper, the sole humanity in sight, grooming the town for another day.
Not for the first time I looked out of my window and considered that our street cleaner may be luckier than we think. A job without stress or concern, simple targets and no decision making all performed with the most awesome backdrop. The wages may not be great and I still don’t think it is a job for me but then I don’t think the rat race is for him.