Bryce reminded me the other evening that the wind and the rain sound the same when listening to the leaves. We were leaving our courtyard, where there is a narrow passageway about two hundred feet long. Alongside the way is a building to one side and a parking lot separating townhouses. We were looking up, following squirrels, on our way to the park for a while before dinner.
The green leaves rustled over us. He said that it was raining. The air was moist, and it had rained a bit earlier that day. “No, I told him. That’s the wind.”
He looked at me and I wondered if he was telling himself that I didn’t know as much as I thought I did. He decided to do what he’s been doing more of lately, repeat what I said. “That’s the wind.”
And while we walked, passing dogs and people and stopping at corners to look for cars, I thought about his perspective. I thought about how far I am from thinking simply that many of nature’s sounds are similar.
I hadn’t pushed the issue with him, but had I been thinking, I could’ve given him a pass. I could have said that it was raining. I could have said it was raining leaves and that if we stayed longer that a few of them would soon fall. I could have told him that we should stick around in the wind, continue looking up, and run around together trying our best to catch falling leaves.