I know what you're thinking. What? You have a backyard? In Brooklyn? GET OUT! But I do.
In the center of this block are backyards to all the buildings that face the street. Most people use them as gardens and plant things like grass and vegetables. Ours is particularly lovely with a peach tree, another tree of some kind, grass, a stone walkway, and a trellis with grape vines. I spend a lot of time sitting here at my desk next to the window. Oftentimes I hear familiar sounds of the out-of-doors. Othertimes, it is as if I am sucked into some Vortex of Weirdness and I hear the strangest unidentifiable sounds. I'm telling you, it is WEIRD. And i never hear these sounds when i'm outside walking around the 'hood.
Right now, this is what i hear: A loud, mega-trumpet. That's what it must be. It's not like a car or even a semi-trunk horn. It is high-pitched, full, and brassy like a giant trumpet. I'm convinced that's what it is. Where or why it is, I am not sure.
An opera singer lives within my block. I don't know who it is or where exactly they live, but sometimes, during a quiet patch, this amazing sound bubbles through the air. It's a voice of rapture, to serenade us all: me, the bugs, and calico cat.
Sometimes I hear what sounds like a citywide alarm going off, alerting of pending doom and destruction. It's not a fire truck or a police car. It's an extremely loud and slow siren, hitting the entire span of low and high pitches. It really is so weird and unexplained that I often feel like my window is open to this strange dimension or netherworld where there truly is a mass emergency going on, of which I am not a part. But for some reason, I get to hear the siren.
I have a calico cat who creeps by my window. I see his shadow through the blinds. Sometimes he eats the dandilions or scallions that grow randomly in the yard here. He must love them, or maybe he only eats plants that ends in "lions" to pay homage to his ferocious heritage. I open the blinds sometimes to have a staring contest. I always win.
Squirrels like to prance on the grass. I say prance because that makes them sound like the pretty fuzzy angels that they aren't. I've heard their voice and it isn't pretty. It's a hideous screeching.
I've heard the songs of 50 new birds and my favorite is the slide whistle. I consider myself a champion whistler and i mimic his song. I like to pretend his rhythmic reply is directed at me, and then I feel a little bad that i'm interrupting his mating call because friend, it just aint gonna happen. Or maybe he feels threatened by another would-be male suitor, but really it's just me, and i can't help it if my song is better than yours.
It's a good time by this window. I honestly never know what i'll hear/see next. It could be anything, really.