When I first started escaping to the Catskills, I was running madly in the direction away from the grating sounds of the city. Jack hammers at construction sites, sirens, and people, music playing from car stereos as loud as a concert. Can you hear me? I say over the phone for the nth time.

Visiting with the upstate woods and bathing in the meadows, the defeaning silence, taught me to hear again. Was it the sound of the birds or the sound of the rushing creek, I couldn’t tell which I loved more.

Howling coyotes and shrieking bobcats at dusk gave me a fearfully profound respect for my new home. What a privilege it is, to live so close to the wild while basking in its beauty. The timely switch of seasonal fare, the wind raking leaves into pretty butterflies. Give it all to me. Season after season, hand me the shovel or hand me the rake. Hand me the binoculars so I can look at this snake!

I have come to appreciate all that is my new normal, but the silence most of all.