Sitting here, just finishing the previous post, I can hear a train horn sounding in the distance. At two o'clock in the morning, that is a mournful sound. A lonely sound. Like the howl of a lone coyote at night.
About the only thing as lonesome, or mournful, at this time of morning is the sound of a small, single engine airplane buzzing along slowly, overhead. You know they are out there all by themselves. No one else around. Not much to see. And everyone they know and love, asleep, at home, without them.
It tugs at your heart to hear such sounds. And I think part of that is the fact that we recognize there is nothing we can do. But they call to us, in their abstract way, to tell us they are there. And I like to believe that to them, they know we heard. And that they are not alone in the dark.
Sentiment happens.
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