THE WORLD CURLING ALLIANCE TO PERFECT and PROMOTE

The Marvel of Nature's Sounds.

"Enhancing my sense of hearing, seeing, and understanding; 
 sounds transform, superimposed one on another, 
a cacophony, changing by the moment, 
often becoming a melodic dis-unity of sound.
 Nature's music is an organized symphony to the discerning ear,
but caring not whether I or anyone hears her anthem of continuous life.

 I hear melodic sounds when awake and logic dictates while asleep;
Maybe, the sounds are registered by the subconscious
when asleep but simply not cognitive to the conscious?
Pristine sounds of nature, each competing, sadly, with grotesque sounds, 
unnatural sounds emanating from man's too many machines, 
not unlike the reverberations of a symphony tuning up for an evening's performance.

To be reflective, that buzzing, is it here or is it there
 identifying the momentary location of that befuddled bee. 
I see only intermittently the little rascal flapping about
here and there with short stubby wings
so I must rely on the warning buzz sound 
generated by its wings before initiating my flight plan to safety.

So I ask, "why hassle me, insect,  
 maddened bee, am I not promoting your existence?"
 Where are you? About my ears, or my behind, ouch! 
The threatening buzz of you, a distressed bee, 
in an aggressive mortal combat mode
and me a non-combatant with no intent to infuriate.

It is not my fault to aggravate you, 
may you, maddened bee-- be assured. 
Let us repose, pause in our anxiety for a moment, O bad-tempered bee; 
please give credence to a moment's relief of your natural inspired anger; 
Did I, unknowingly, violate your colony?

And again let me listen to natures call, albeit not so animate;
But I know you bee, you give up only on pain of death
and so my minor pain has become your swan song -- 
So goodbye, protective of the hive, buzzing bee. 

Please?
May I now, again, but peacefully this predawn morning, 
listen to other of Nature's sounds;
I eavesdrop from my partially opened sleeping bag 
with mosquito netting draped over and listen to the harmonic sound 
compressed between morning mist and cold dark water of the 
seemingly forlorn, yet mobilized call of the loon
as it glides skimming in ground effect across the lake.
Loon calls
It alights to dive in pursuit of a shiner from the lake's abyss.
Ripples generated by the loons skidding landing
emanate toward the shore recompensed by the the gentle morning breeze
until ripples become measurable waves 
creating lapping sounds on the rocky shore and
competing with a predominate sound of acrimony.
An apparently amorous cow moose is standing belly deep in fall chilled water 
grunting unknown love messages into the morning mist
with intent, no doubt, to impress a potential mate hopefully in earshot.
'Ooooow  ah, ooooow  ah, ooooow  ah,' the sound penetrating deep into the boreal forest.
The crashing of brush in the nearby bush disturbs the loon 
and then closer splashing sounds of stomping footsteps on wet banks 
causes the aquatic bird to again take flight whistling
 out an obvious complaint of her interrupted feeding interlude.
A giant agitated bull moose suddenly appears
 ominously along the shoreline. 
He answers the cows love song, 'ooooow ah,' with,  a more demonstrative,
"Uuhh, Uuhh, Uuhh."

Translated from Greek to Latin to English --
These bull moose lingo words mean: 'Come here baby (moose that is), I'm ready!'
For that matter, the cow moose communication, 
 'ooooow ah, oooow ah' means exactly the same; "I'm ready too big daddy!"

But, the cow moose seems momentarily disinterested and dunks her head
 through the thin film of ice for her food, lush green summer grown aquatic plants 
growing in one meter, 3 feet, of water depth.  
The thin pieces of broken ice create a tinkling sound 
as ice strikes ice generated by waves as her big body, 500kg, moves in 3 feet of water.
The large boreal ruminants soon disappeared into the bush with systemic
 crashing as the bull moose chases the cow moose ---- till she is ready.
 And then, an unseemly, quite comes again to the very local boreal forest scene?
And life continues, as before over the millennia.

Moose calves are born the following April - May
 depending on the month of breeding, usually late September to late October.
  Gestation is constant as in most mammals.

My quite highly creative sound listening appreciative solitude
 while embedded in my insect-proof sleeping bag was soon interrupted 
when I heard 'chop, chop, chop' sounds;
 that disgusting sound reminiscent of man's oppressive 
vibrations of cutting down the forest as wood, dry deadfall wood, 
was being cut and then being split --- but for the camp fire? 
Guess that is OK, right? After all, one needs coffee to get going in the morning.

Between dozing off and on I listened judiciously for the tin clinking sound
 of the coffeepot being placed on hot rocks,
 
 I was disturbed by the 'chop - chops' as I awaited the crackling sounds of a new camp fire.
I knew fresh bush made coffee would be ready soon
 so when was that 'perk-a-clink, perk-a-clink, perk-a-clink' sound 
going to be heard from that smoke blackened 
coffee pot sitting astraddle two rocks above a, her, small camp fire? 
Finally the life stirring, life motivating,  'perk-a-clink' sound came; 
erratic at first, and then the rhythmic,' clink-a -clink. clink-a-clink.'

 My female companion has made the greatest of synthesized
 music with her awakening sounds and the smart observer 
would be judicious to award her with praise.
 When I taste that first slurp of black camp coffee,
I guess I'll have to recognize her achievement
 of stirring 'macho man' to venture from his sleeping bag
 to face the challenges of this day,
never mind the last several millennia of male superiority as the 'Hunter man!!'
 It appears my female companion got tired of waiting for me, macho-man, to get up
and perform the millennia old function of male gathering and supplying
 (anthropologists have long known that women were the predominant 'gatherers and family suppliers')
 and decided, if she wanted hot coffee and breakfast, she had better do it herself.
 
So, I remained in my sleeping-bag with mosquito netting pulled over 
as the ravenous insects were again relaying messages to there compatriots 
that a blood filled man was available nearby for their exploitation. 
Luckily, my lady friend reconnoitered me to suffice a little java
 at her smoke emulating campfire that bug-proofed our campsite.

 It seems that each sound of nature, no matter how badly violated 
 by mans' involvement may still be appreciated. 
People who live in the cities may never hear the in-the-wild love song of a loon or a moose, 
but maybe a  cooing of a pigeon about to take flight from a building eave 
before it let's fly on your new coiffeur.
Don't we like to hear on occasion the slam bang
 of a steam hammer driving down bridge pilings or a man with a 'jackhammer'
 breaking concrete for a new sewer line below the city street?

These construction sounds are definitely a violation of Nature's natural sounds but they
have to be accepted as an exchange in mans' new industrial venue.  
So, the sound of the sub-way is magic to the ear;
 The sound of the three tenors is magic to the ear; 
The sound of a summer hip-hop extravaganza is magic to someone's ear.

 It must be a sad person that suffers the recourse of, "few sounds please my ear."
But joyful listening arises realizing that Nature's sounds can only to be fairly imitated
by short music bars gathered into mans' sound by mimicking vibrations
produced by an articulate, playing his interpreted natural music,
on the Stradivarius violin. jkr