As the noise in the church hall buzzed around us while we prepared dinner for fifty, with the accompaniment of clattering pans and tinkling glasses and happy laughter, i was reminded that this time last year I was just getting over a problem I'd had with my hearing. It's interesting how much you notice different sounds and appreciate them when you've been struggling to make sense of the world whilst "locked in" your own quiet space. It's earily isolating. It has given me an empathy with those like some of the people we served today who suffer so much with hearing loss.
Last year I wrote a poem about it:
9th April :
For a few months I have been troubled with poor hearing. It was probably wax and has since cleared up - well almost. Whilst not being able to hear that well I discovered how much I value ( or should value) that particular sense.
The Music of Life
It occurs to me to be thankful
That I can hear those particular sounds.
His soft voice - a whisper,
"Are you awake?"
Delicate singing of birds greeting
The day.
Welcome sound of water running
In the kitchen,
Kettle boiling,
Cups clattering,
Tinkling of spoon,
Music playing - radio 2,
Soft steps on the stair,
When he brings the tray
With morning tea.
Buzz of bee circling the garden,
Water bubbling in pond
Disturbed by fish.
Engine of aeroplane
In distant blue.
Revving of neighbours car
Like clockwork.
Fluttering sound of trees
Rustling leaves in breeze.
Shrieks of joy from children
Two gardens down.
And the doorbell ringing
Calling me urgently
To come and answer
For all the above
And much, much, more,
I am so thankful
