Sounds from my window

An audio journal

Foghorns

It’s midnight and I’m wide awake, because, of course, I skipped my due diligence and didn’t wind down properly for bed. Just as I’m about to succumb to slumber, a low moaning foghorn bellows in the distance. It plays at a comforting rhythm, allowing for healthy breathing room between tones. When this occurs, I usually imagine the crew of whatever large monstrosity of a freighter is slowly pulling into the bay, completely enveloped by fog, guided only by the steady rhythm of the horn.

I’m aware they have modern GPS and instruments and all that on board, but it’s probably still a bit nerve wracking approaching a large land mass you can’t see. Steering a giant ship must be a miraculous mixture of skill, faith, and luck. I think about that every time the foghorn blows. Hearing it makes me feel the closeness of the ocean, and eventually lulls me to sleep.

Parrots

At approximately 9AM everyday, a flock of released pet parrots flies above my apartment, their charming high-pitched eek-eeks indicating that I should probably get my butt in gear and get to work. A small flock has been flying around my neighborhood for a few years now, since around the start of the pandemic. They stick to their morning flyby routine almost religiously. I look forward to their flamboyant cackles and if I’m outside at that time, as I sometimes am, I turn my gaze upward to catch a glimpse of their tiny green wings flapping desperately against the wind. They are my alarm clock that subtly jolts me out of a post-sleep stupor, telling me to stop hiding and go get some fresh air already.

Sickly Unidentified Bird

Some time later, usually around noon, a strange bird cries out from the power line parallel to my apartment building. It doesn’t sound like any bird I’ve ever heard before. It stands out amongst the regular cacophony of calls outside my window, which includes the cawing of crows, the screeching of hawks, the cooing of doves, and the two-toned honks of seagulls. This creature sounds like an old animated film crone being scared out of her wits while simultaneously blowing her nose. The crone is probably a smoker, and is pissed off that you interrupted her day. If anyone can identify the species of bird through this description, please call me.

The Golden Gate Bridge

Sometimes the Universe gifts you a sound, only created by a kismet of events and marriage of physical materials, like blowing over the top of a glass bottle. On certain nights in San Francisco, the wind blows through the long cables holding up the Golden Gate Bridge producing a high-pitched hum like a tin flute. The wind must be strong and steady enough to produce this somewhat pleasing, if not disorienting tone. The pitch changes every so often, depending on the wind speed. It takes a bit of focus to hear it. You might think you’re imagining things, but no, this sound is real and ghostly and reminds you that the Golden Gate Bridge is basically a massive harp, ready to be plucked by a giant.

Middle School Children’s Games

I live next to a middle school and don’t work 9 to 5 everyday, making me privy to whatever is happening in the schoolyard. Mid-afternoon is when the kids have recess, and which brings all sorts of various sounds. There is a fair amount of screaming. It makes me wonder what kind of games they’re playing, or if life for a pre-teen is just lived at a louder volume. The back of our apartment abuts the schoolyard, and we sometimes find broken glass bottles in our driveway, no doubt hurled over the chain link fence by a group of raucous kids. Remember when life used to get you that excited? To feel thrill of stupid games, and howl at the top of your lungs?

Owls

The middle school next door is a giant brick building with an imposing tower that stretches its eye far over the Richmond district. A few years ago, atop this very tower, a family of owls built their nest. It’s an ideal nesting place, away from predators, with a great vantage point from which you can catch the rats that patrol Clement Street after restaurant hours. 

There is nothing so strangely haunting and comforting as the hoot of an owl. We started hearing the owls during our nightly walks, their throaty hoots echoing between buildings, making it difficult to pin down their whereabouts. We craned our necks, searching for a glimpse of these nocturnal flying cats, and finally, peering up at the tower, saw a large dark shadow with pointy ears. The family of owls has probably grown up and moved on since then, but sometimes in the wee hours of the night, I can still hear an owl calling out from the top of the tower, and sometimes in the distance, another one answers.