Today I watched the Belle of Louisville pull away from the pier loaded with revelers ready for an old-time trip up the Ohio River, but all I could hear was the vroom and hum and screech of traffic on the interstate.
I walked along the river to a park, heard children playing and saw them splashing in a fountain to the lulling sound of traffic on the interstate. I saw some cliff swallows and heard their calls accompanied by the sound of traffic on the interstate, and I walked back to my hotel seeking cooling shade beneath the elevated interstate.
My room on the ninth floor of the Galt House offers a terrific view of the river and a pair of bridges carrying traffic on the interstate. I fear that those incessant sounds will work their way into my nightmares, driving through my dreams and shoving my sanity off the side of the road.
I've lived too long in the country, but I recall that when we lived within 20 feet of a railroad track, I eventually stopped noticing the rumble and clatter of the trains that seemed to be thundering through our bedroom. By the end of the week I won't even hear the traffic sounds that batter my brains today, but then I'll be on my way home with new appreciation for the gentle sounds and soothing silence of my quiet place in the woods.
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