I haven't written a blog in three months. Three. Months. I've had things to write about. I just didn't. I stopped myself. I kept all that stuff locked inside my noggin and now it is lost, crammed, rattling about with all my other ideas, plans and fears that lay the ground for anything I might write. Or not.
Still, something got me pondering as I was driving yesterday (and it was a scrumptious day) windows down, new fave radio station 103.1 The Wave playing excellent 80's songs one after the other. I was taking the scenic route home, getting as much leaf peeping in as possible when Spandau Ballet "True" https://youtu.be/AR8D2yqgQ1U comes on.
The line "This is the sound of my soul" hit me. It never really weighed that much when I first heard it all those lifetimes ago. The song was more about Molly Ringwald and Sixteen Candles to me. That moment in time. All those pop culture references. A good baseline for everything 80's. But right then, with the breeze and the leaves and that line "this is the sound of my soul" I wanted to know what the sound of my soul was.
I knew immediately what Todd and Dad would say, they would say the sound of my soul was a fart. Then I wanted to know what my friend's souls sounded like. Was it the ocean? Their children's laughter? The Main Street Electrical Parade? Beethoven's Violin Concerto in D Major? Rain?
Then I needed to decide why this even mattered to me and what in the world my soul would sound like and if I even had one. Or wanted one.
Then I walked in my door and I saw my Bunny Boys. Then I heard them chomping their hay. And I knew. The sound of a soul, any soul, is what gives you peace. Listening to my guys chew on fresh hay is that sound.
I had a ten pound box of hay delivered today. All is right with the world.