When I bought a co-op apartment in Brooklyn, I did not realize until it was too late that I was on a commercial thoroughfare, masquerading as a tree-lined residential street: Caton Ave., the truckers' route to Long Island. Now, in Whitmore Lake, I am less-than-home-run-hit distance from I-23. The house across the street has the expressway in their backyard. And the street between me and that house is Main St., which gets its fair share of speeding traffic as well.
Am I subconsciously drawn to arteries of movement? In fact, I do live not too far from train tracks either, but the intermittent train whistle is far more welcome than the constant drone of the automobiles. In Seattle, although I chose a quiet dead-end street for my house, I was right under flight paths into Seatac. Maybe my next house could be next to shipping lanes instead.
For some reason, the sound of the traffic has not bothered me until recently--perhaps because I have only recently stopped falling asleep the moment I lie down, and so have time to ponder flaws in my environment that might be disturbing my otherwise peaceful brain waves. I try to focus on the night noises behind/above/below the traffic. The trees around the house are filled with critters singing their regular songs. I imagine that they are not consumed by the thump-thump of car wheels, so I should focus on that natural hum instead of the transient human bother.
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