Sounds.

It’s a beautiful morning - the birds are chirping, and the sun is shining. It’s a welcome change from the cold, cloudy week we’ve had. As I sit at the kitchen table journaling and sipping my green tea, my thoughts are startled with the sound of unbelievably loud theme parkish music.

A common Friday morning ritual for the young men in the neighborhood is to detail their cars. Whether they’re driving new SUVs or the popular white Toyota truck, cleanliness seems to be close to godliness when it comes to their cars. In order for the process to be perfect, they open all the doors and windows and turn on their stereo. Usually it’s some sort of traditional music, or sometimes even Middle Eastern rap. However, this morning the choice tune appears to be something a bit more symphonic and dramatic. It’s actually quite nice, although I’ve found it a bit difficult to maintain my train of thought as I write.

Amidst the crescendos and the occasional cymbal crash, I can also make out that the kids are out playing in the street. Without rising from my seat in the warm kitchen, I’m 99.9% sure that twenty feet away from me, on the other side of the garden wall, are between eight and ten boys playing a game of soccer. They’ve probably put a couple of rocks in the street to serve as goalposts, and now and then I can hear them arguing about the game.

Between the music and sound of kids playing, I almost feel as if I should be walking into Epcot or Universal Studios. I enjoy these Friday morning sounds. They’re comforting and a reminder of the neighborhood that I live in - a semi clean couple of blocks filled with residents of all ages and a couple of different ethnic backgrounds. So I’ll sit and enjoy the rest of my tea, knowing that in just 45 minutes the joyful sounds - evidence of life - will cease and another dictating sound will summon the men to the mosques. The streets will become eerily quiet and the houses will be filled with Friday morning preaching that can be heard all over the city.