Yesterday there was a small engine plane buzzing back and forth for hours. This is a regular occurrence at this time of year so near farmland, and is amusing more than anything, like watching fat little bees at the first blooms. It happens like this a handful of times, and then it’s over.
But the overhead planes, thousands of feet up, mostly commercial airliners of course, can be heard at all times of the day and the night. That dull, dissipated roar is always behind the birds and frogs and crickets and waves. It generally goes unnoticed by most as it’s so distant and pervasive, but it’s something that I can’t help but focus on more often than not. The seemingly empty, directionless thundering aural odor of human progress wafting down on everything no matter what direction the wind takes it, without an end, ever.