It is the sound of the wind fanciful The falling leaves of autumn that soothes my soul. The cumulous fluffy cotton wisping by, cancelling ceaseless clamor. It is the blueness of a New England sky erasing invasive sounds My own voice resonating in public structures not able to drown out a city filled with children, train horns, industry, metallic bangs, and other signs of civility. The sounds of adulthood that clang, rebound, bounce, ricochet aimlessly are those self-same sounds of childhood which invigorated and created and made possible so many, if not all, of my fondest experiences.