Hard to believe, but at varying times during the past forty-six nights, there have been sirens of some description moving through our neighbourhood. Sometimes along the main road, sometimes passing through en route to other locations, even a few times up our street. Loud, piercing, persistent sirens that announce little, other than the fact that they are on their way somewhere to help someone in some way.
Not sure what that says about our wider community - more people in trouble, more people making trouble - but in our little backyard, it contrasts oddly with other sounds of the great outdoors - all manner of critters scurrying around, gentle breezes, the occasional rainstorm, people chatting, cyclists and their nemeses, neighbours walking their dogs. Of course, we wouldn't notice as much if our window was closed to the sounds of the night, but while summer hangs on and spring threatens, our window stays open.
After forty-six nights, we are looking forward to a siren-free sleep. A small indication that perhaps, for one night at least, all is well in our corner of the world.
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