Usually, it’s quiet. Punctuating the quiet in the morning, big black crows signaling to one another from the treetops and chatting while they seek out worms in the wet grass.

This afternoon, lawnmowers two houses down.

Then it rained, and I could hear it tapping on the kitchen sky light for a little while.

And right now, all I can hear is the high school marching band practicing for homecoming this weekend, shouting, blowing horns, and the sharp crack of sticks striking tight pigskin drum heads. It is distant, yet clear.

The sky is completely gray. Everything else outside looks dark green. Yesterday the clouds scattered and I could see the crisp silhouette of the Olympics, the tallest and pointiest peak already dusted with snow.

I also hear the second hand of the kitchen clock. I peeked at the time; I’ll start dinner now.