I was sitting in my backyard post walk with my morning Italian coffee and realized that something had changed. Gone are the mornings when the rooster made his confused calls for wake up times. I get it now. The lyrical Italian wafting from my neighbours in Tuscany has given way to the ceaseless drone of traffic. SIGH! This noise – there is no music to it – is also calling me to its grey and wearisome party. In one short hour, I will join the choir of hundreds of thousands who must make their way through the G.T.A. to some destination other than the local pastry shop. The low din never stops. Whether it tops the trees from the highway or whether it escalates when the train is readying itself for the next stop. It continues.
I would much rather hear the Italian neighbours happily discussing their garden, their breakfast – whatever it was they were discussing. I don’t really care. I’m just not ready to be a drone on the road. Time to create my music.