Ten minutes to write. Less time to read.

Night is a strange time; and, as we move to that part of the year when it’s darker longer, I’ve noticed how different sounds prick the ear under the darkness.

When we sleep with our windows closed, there is the intermittent hum of the air conditioning. The pump that pumps water from our well sounds like someone is vacuuming our crawl space; and, although it only lasts several minutes, you would wonder what it was if you were a guest in our home for the first time.

Another thing I alert guests to is the sprinkler system that comes on at four in the morning and sounds like the rat-a-tat of a small BB gun when it strikes the outside brick. That can be really disconcerting when you’re deep in slumber.

With the windows closed, the manual alarm clock that Earl uses as extra insurance above and beyond the radio alarm makes its presence known, even though Earl places it in the bathroom.

When we sleep with our windows open, there is an entirely different symphony of sound, although the sprinklers, like trumpets, still command temporary attention. The river’s rush, the falling water on the other side of the bank, the birds, the walnuts dropping from the trees with a thud, the crickets — oh, the crickets — and, on warm nights, voices of others who court the night long after we’ve retired.

All in all, it’s peaceful either way, although I think I prefer the sounds of nature to the sounds of machinery.