Friday, September 20, 2013

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I have commented before on my enjoyment of the morning hours for the quiet that they offer.  In The City, quiet is a rare and precious thing, eagerly to be sought by those who grew up with access to it, and notably unnerving to many who grew up without.  I have seen some who do not do well when removed from the clamor of too many people in too small a space, jostling against one another loudly and navigating through clotted streams of traffic and the occasional pockets of heavy machinery grinding and rumbling,

Well away from The City, now, I have greater access to the quiet I seldom got while there, and I can feel the noise and tumult that had been in me easing out of me.  It is a purgation not entirely comfortable; it is a tenacious thing, the noise that seeps into a person when amid several million others, clinging in resistance to being passed.  And if the reference is scatological, I have written before about the fetor that occupies much of The City and of the propensity of people to defecate in public--there is a connection between the digestive and acoustic wastes, in that both are natural, both go away, and both are unpleasant to have in close proximity.

There is this connection, too, that both are the results of what is taken in--and the most flavorful meals often leave the least pleasant smells well after they are eaten. (I cannot seem to shake the scatology this morning.  I do not apologize.)  So while I am glad to be relieving myself of what it is that I yet carry, I cannot say that I have it without enjoying quite the meal, one by which I have been well nourished.  But I find myself hungry again, and I am looking about for what I will eat next.  It is fortunate, therefore, that Stillwater's school deals so much with agriculture...

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