I wake up to the sound of a woodpecker hammering madly on the copper downspout of the house next door. Abruptly, I remember that I no longer live in the city.

I grew used to the sounds of the city. The air brakes of the No. 10 bus as it slowed down to stop at the corner. The bump and grind of the garbage trucks, even from 12 stories up. The regular backfiring of the ​’75 Chevy that parked across the street. The sirens: ambulances, fire engines, police cruisers. Were they saving, arresting, or just too late? I never knew. Together, they created a masterwork of urban music that made me feel. Distant, but part of something. Separate, but equal.

I once lived in a place full of bad sounds. Exclusionary sounds. Strident sounds. Gossipy sounds. Holier-than-thou sounds. You’ll never get what you want sounds. Where are your people from? sounds. What do you do? sounds. Is that what you’re wearing? sounds. Party glasses tinkling and some man flirting with someone else’s wife sounds. 

There were also the inside my own head sounds. You’re too fat sounds. What makes you think you can do that? sounds. What an idiot you are sounds. Who’d want to go out with you sounds? You should be glad you’ve got a job at all sounds. You’ll never amount to anything sounds. Who the hell do you think you are? sounds. Be quiet sounds.

Meanwhile, the woodpecker goes on, wildly, doing the impossible, not knowing it can’t be done. A good sound. A necessary sound in this world. It’s early and I roll over. Then, I get up. This sounds like it will be a good day.