Murmers from the old world garden.

There is so much I could write about concerning my life. I could expound on my multitudinous daily struggles, my recurrent psychological battles and fervent intrapersonal conflicts, or even just the most minute details of my day-to-day lifestyle. But... I choose not to. I don't find such matters to be that interesting--to dwell on in my mind, much less compose public blog entries about. Therefore, 99.99999% of what occurs in my life goes unrecorded in this journal, which sets me apart from... very few other journal owners, actually. I could hardly imagine falling into the habit of using this as a place to summarise every memorable event of every day. Rather, it's a place that is always here for me, where I can express my thoughts, ideas, and opinions as often or seldom as I prefer. I prefer most of what I share to be of a profound nature, though it does not necessarily have to be. Right now, I feel as if I am rambling on about nothing important like some jerk. Perhaps that realisation illuminates what has discouraged me from posting much at all, lately. These large compositions full of no one's writing but my own; no one's voice but my own. Me writing for the sake of showing off my writing. Well, that's not it really, but oddly, it makes me feel a little too conceited and grandiloquent to be comfortable sometimes. I have just been much more content shutting up and reading other journals and forum posts rather than contributing my own. I suppose there is nothing wrong with speaking up once in awhile.

I greatly appreciate the comments, though, and yes, I read every last one of them.

It is now raining in this town for the first time I have noticed this month, and I find it incredibly refreshing, just listening to it fall steadily outside my window. The sound of falling rain is one of the most appealing out of the five ways it can be sensed. Behind that is the incessant chorus of coqui frogs, ever-present at night. It is wonderful background music that persists from sundown to sun-up . . . and the dawn is especially magical, where the birds begin to chirp over the steady melodies of the frogs. If it happens to be raining at the same time, well . . . it's pure euphoria. This apartment is surrounded by dense trees and lush vegetation, so it comes with plenty of rainforesty sounds, despite its being located a hop, skip, and jump from downtown. I feel so fortunate to live in this type of setting.

Something so simple as the swaying of long slender leaves of ironwood trees in the mountain breeze can completely enchant me. It sounds like a very deep whispering that can be heard throughout the hills, as if sweet euphony is oozing like sap from the bark. When nothing else can be heard other than this soul-soothing whooshing noise, I find it makes me very sentimental. One cannot forget the roar of the ocean, either. I greatly enjoy camping by the shore, so I can hear the lapping of the waves up against the rocks and the sand as I drift in and out of slumber beneath a sky glistening with flinching stars.

The sounds of nature are too often taken for granted, since so much emphasis is usually placed on what we visually perceive. All you have to do the next time you wander out into the woods, or any natural landscape, though, is just close your eyes and concentrate on the sounds of nature. I don't care to imagine how different it would be without them. If only more people had the opportunity and the incentive to go out and appreciate nature in its finer, more undisturbed forms.

Good things do come from Pokemon, occasionally. Arcanines rule. (=