Archives
Monday, November 25, 2002
Walking across Whitnall tonight, I suddenly heard the sound of whistling drifting across the field. It reminded me of how many nights I've walked around singing to myself, letting the sound carry in the clear still air but somehow feeling secure about it because no one was around to hear, or at least, the night concealed anyone who might have been listening. As I listened to the whistling I caught sight of a shadow across the field, presumably the source of the sound. When the tune ended I started whistling the first thing that came to mind, which happened to be the chorus of "All Hands on the Bad One" by Sleater-Kinney. Then I stopped and listened for a response. At first there was nothing, then a faint sound on the wind which made me realize that I must have passed the whistler and the person was now moving away from me. I turned to look, but the one shadow had faded into the many, and there was silence.
