There are lots of people up and about in the wee hours of a weekend morning though not the people going to or coming from work, but those ready for a whole night of socializing in whatever form that takes. The noises come loud and clear from the streets below and into my apartment. I don’t hear the noises though (well, I do and I don’t). A part of me is aware of them, and another part doesn’t acknowledge them. Maybe that’s from years of living in New York City, or just my way of processing things. The part that is aware hears screams, shouts, uproarious laughter, loud honks – weekend noises – of people who’ve come to Phila for night life, or perhaps people living in Phila trying to shake off their work week. The strong noises continue til sleep comes for me, the night owl, – not the outside night owls. After departing restaurants, bars, theatres, jazz spots, etc. weekend revelers seem to stop anywhere along the way to gather and have another drink to just prolong the evening. Some are single and can sleep the next day; Others with children, well, loss of sleep is the tradeoff for a night of ease and enjoyment. To the part of me that doesn’t acknowledge and is not sensitive to city noises, I say, halleluia. Otherwise, I’d need an assortment of ear plugs and a good sense of humor. Actually, I hope I have the last, and, if I do, I want it forever.

Now those country noises are an altogether different matter. I hear all of them that are soft and of nature, and I hear the silence, too. And they’re all acknowledged. Oh, yes.

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