I lived along a lightly graveled road, way back then.
The tires of passing cars and trucks didn't really sing to themselves there. It was more of a rumbling sound, especially with the trucks loaded with produce which would eventually end up in some distant city.
It was something of an experience to hear tires singing on the stretch of blacktopped road leading into the village ... or better yet, on "the hard road," U.S. Highway 51, which ran through town.
I'll never forget hearing that on one of the hottest days in the hottest part of summer. I just closed my eyes and listened. It really did sound like a distant, steady frying noise.
Perhaps it was the combination of hot pavement and travel-heated tires, the density of that moist summer air, or simply my young imagination, but it was definitely a haiku moment, long before I knew what a haiku was.
This one was originally published in Capper's:
sitting in the shade
listening to the traffic
making frying sounds
© 1995
***
Today's word:
frying
2 comments:
Hi Mr. Brimm.......Another great poem. Though there isn't any traffic in my neck of the woods I used to live in California where there was plenty of traffic and this poem reminded me of those days in California where we would sit on the curb as children and wait for the ice cream truck as we listened to the cars speeding down the streets as we ate ice cream on hot days. Living in Georgia on my street its rare when a car comes down the road. The only ones visiting my neighborhood today are bees and butterflies which hardly make a sound except the bees who are buzzing around from flower to flower. Thanks for the comment in your journal. I will miss your journal more than you know.
This made me smile. It's good to stop and listen and think.
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