It is said that if you listen close enough, you can hear the snow falling out of the sky. It is possible. I've heard the sound of snow falling. I've heard the sounds of sadness and anger. I've heard cries of anguish and pain. But I've also heard sounds of laughter, love and unbounded passion.
I think all the sounds I've heard are probably stored somewhere in my mind like a jumbled I-Pod with no earbuds. The sound of my beloved soulmate's voice. The sound of my dogs rejoicing gleefully when I arrive home from work. The sound of traffic on the freeway just behind the Morgan shack. The sound of rain beating a rhythm on the roof. The sound of machinery in the foundry. These are familiar sounds. Fond sounds. Sounds that reassure me life is as it should be.
But then there are those times when I'm lost in a dreamwalk early in the morning of a new day. Unfamiliar sounds. Voices I don't recognize. Sounds that seem to eminate from locations I can't manage to find. I find myself trying to awaken, but the dreamwalk's not yet complete. And so I push onward, ever in search of the elusive sounds I'm driven to discover.
I've come to the conclusion that the unfamiliar sounds, the unrecognized voices are simply signposts on a highway running parallel to the long, lonesome highway I've travelled in my life. Voices and sounds from a different dimension and a different time. Voices and sounds of lives passed by and lives yet to live.
The secrets of their existence lie in the suns, the moons and the stars occupying a far and distant universe not yet discovered. A journey yet to be booked. Fare to be paid. Travel available only on that mystical mode of transportation known as....The Hitchcock Railway.
