Sat on the front stoop in the dark, listening to the sounds of night in the city. I can see why some people never find peace in cities. Too noisy. I don’t mind the noise. I don’t even hear it unless I decide to hear it. When I lived in the country, I no more heard the sound of the wind rustling the leaves than I do the sounds of tires on highway pavement now. It’s just background music, and in some ways, it’s comforting. If the highway is humming, all is well with the world.

An unusual sound was heard over the nightly din of airplanes, big rigs, trains, and other modes of transportation that make up the soundscape of Austin — that particular din being the equivalent of the rural wind in the leaves — which prompted my sitting on the front porch in the dark. Listening to the melody of the city kept me out there longer than necessary. I determined in the first five minutes the sound wasn’t worth fretting over. An unusual sound that doesn’t spawn other less usually heard sounds, like multiple sirens or the sounds of human distress or further unusual sounds, is a non-threat and can be safely forgotten. The city is full of background sounds — the sources of which you will never know. So long as the utilities still work, no one is screaming nearby, and the highway is humming, all is well with the world.

While I do love the sounds of a city at night, there is one thing I miss from my more rural days: looking at the stars. Only the biggest and brightest make it through the light pollution, often not even enough of them to create an entire constellation. I haven’t seen the Milky Way stretched across a pitch black sky in far too long. I just take it for granted it’s still up there being as awe inspiring and beautiful as ever. That’s a little sad. I should do something about that, like find a place to go where the stars can still be seen in their full glory.

I’m feeling contented but wistful tonight. It’s an interesting combination of emotions. I believe I’ll go sit on the porch and listen to the sounds of night in my city and squint in the direction of the stars.