A stressful day, several different job sites. To catch my breath, I head to a local park. Over 100 years old, this park often draws me with its hidden benches and its tree-lined trails. I sit down and prepare to relax. A house that abuts the park is having some work done—machinery whirring and grating. Then, the parks people fire up the leafblowers. I am convinced that the orchestra in Hell will consist of a variety of leafblowers. I get up and move to the other side of the park.
Here, at a very secluded bench, I finally have my peace and quiet. It is so quiet I can hear the unique sound of the last leaves pattering to the ground from the increasingly bare tree branches. In the thicket next to me a little bird grouses and chirps, flicking his tail and landing on every branch in the bush as if taking stock of his holdings.
At my feet I hear a rustle in the fallen leaves. An enormous earthworm, perhaps a nightcrawler, is propelling his shining length through the grass. Watching him seems an eternity as he unconcernedly travels on, an underworld creature skimming the surface world.