The Light of Autumn, the golden-tinged light, was shining throughout the morning and afternoon. It gave an auric glow to the landscape. Now, clouds are gathering. Thunder has been rumbling for the past hour. Because we had a short rainy season this year, we are hoping that these clouds, blowing from the northeast, rumbling in, will be more than the tease of last night. Then, there were all of the dramatics of the false prophet, promising the end of the world, by deluge, when all we got was a few minutes of sprinkles, which were quickly soaked up by a thirsty earth.
The above paragraph was written just before it was time to stop for Dinner. Dinner, last night consisted of homemade Guacamole. This made in one of our Molcajetes. And Tacos de Carnitas, with Homemade Tortillas. During dinner, and throughout the evening and night, the gathering clouds kept their promise and delivered some rain; 8/10 of an inch!
My thoughts, yesterday afternoon, were musings on the sounds of the countryside, the "campo" outside of San Miguel de Allende, where we live. The sounds here, coming mostly from nature, differ from the hustle and happenings of SMA. There, are the noises of cars and buses and trucks and commerce. On any given day, there is celebration and fireworks; these from simple "cuetes," fire crackers, to bottle rockets and grand displays of pinwheels and facsimiles. There are musicians playing in the Parks and Gardens and restaurants; sometime creating a cacophony, as mariachis compete with Spanish flamenco guitarists and the jukebox of the kids break-dancing on the bandstand. Vendors calling out selling newspapers and cooked "elote" (corn) and the tin whistle of the knife sharpener. And a siren or two, punctuated by the band whistle of the transit police, trying to find the people who have double-parked along the main streets. And, for many who live and visit SMA, all of these are a part of its charm. For me too; this, mostly because I visit SMA when I choose. The rest of the time, I'm out here at Casita Dos Arbolitos listening to sounds out here.
We have no fewer sounds than SMA, mostly just different, and more natural. There are some "industrial" sounds, if you will. If one is awake at 5:30AM, the sound of the school bus honking the "claxon" (car horn) is hurried summonig the secondary-grade students. From our house, it is a bit faint and only heard if we're awake. A bit later, the Poorwill sings its plaintive to condensingly bouncy song, as the dawn breaks. In the distance, a rooster or two crow to the awakening day, a few dogs, barking at an early delivery truck. Other birds take over, as the sun begins to appear on the horizon and the Poorwill finishes its morning solo; later, as dusk begins, another solo performance will be staged, as the birds begin to quiet down and settle in. At some point in the morning, the high plateau drylands sound a bit like a jungle, as the cactus wrens and woodpeckers begin their callings to one another. And there are the doves who coo and "mourn" during the morning and early evening. And the screech of the jay. And chittering of the towhees. And the beautiful song of the thrasher, a song that belies its sinister yellow-eyed appearance.
Besides the birds of the campo, there are the domestics. The roosters, as mentioned, comment throughout the day, mostly in the morning and evening, and at abrupt changes in light and temperature. Yesterday, the cattle on the hillside to the south of Casita Dos Arbolitos, in full view from our Patio Room, were carrying on some indecipherable conversation, occasionally punctuated by the braying of a donkey in the village. During the early afternoon, one of the villagers was moving his flock of sheep through the arroyo, looking for a little green for them to nibble on. The sheep added to the domestic dialog, though not as much as they do during the time their children are still suckling. Then, there is a bit more calling, back and forth, as mother and child try to locate each other; the children, as children of all species are wont to do, having wandered off to explore, instead of staying close to their Mamas.
At various times, throughout the night, throughout the year, coyotes yip. Their reasons not fully understood, though some times they sound lonely and others more celebratory. And, on occasion, the hoot of an owl breaks the silence of the night.
There are more industrial sounds. There is a rhythm to them, throughout the week. In the next post, I'll tell about them and their place in our village, out here in the campo.
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