
Eleven kilometres in a nature reserve,
Drone of crickets
Overlaid with bird calls.
Rustling leaves
And a glimpse
Of a scampering squirrel
And a startled monitor lizard
There was also distant traffic
The sound of piling
And tractors.
And voices,
German, Filipino, Chinese
An enquiring mother
"Do you need a drink of water?"
A maintenance vehicle with two workers
Squeezes past me,
The first I've seen in years on this path.
A jet plane flies overhead, unseen.
Then another minutes later.
A Chinook shatters the peace.
"What's that sound?" A curious boy
Asks his mother who didn't have the answer.
Another Chinook passes,
or maybe it's the same one returning.
My steps crunch on gravel
And squish in the mud.
My walk ends
And six fighter jets
Scream overhead.

As I walked through MacRitchie Nature Reserve a few days back, I focused especially on what I could hear. The crickets were particularly loud and persistent, I thought. Or maybe I was just paying more attention.