Background Noise

Over the years, I've had the good fortune of visiting several USAF bases as a civilian. The runway strips are filled with fighters and noisy, tactical maneuvering. A constant state of readiness is illustrated illustriously on my radar screen. Ospreys, F-16's, F-15's, more fire power down range than meets the eye, you name it. The unity of the Force is formidable. I feel safe, Trust Me. The drone continues at my own home, route 222 thrusts through my back yard. It's noisy ambitions of delightfully showing the travelers the way to NYC, through Allentown, is my back yards badge of courage. Whole heartedly, I enjoy the movement, whether by plane, chopper, car, truck, bus. The incessant rumble when I wake, when I sleep, reminds me that we are on the move. Through the nite, through the day, up in the sky or down on the asphalt, racking up tolls on the Turnpike. I reminisce on the movie First Blood (Rambo) and the scene where Rambo hunts the wild boar, kills it, carries it back to his makeshift camp in the abandoned mine shaft. There, he cooks over the open flame, a brisket perhaps. Anyway, before Col. Troutman effectively accesses Rambo on the walkie, John J. can hear the slight hum of the automobiles in the distance. He pauses, listens, keeps moving. Always in motion, churning, the exhaust pipes fueling the air, always something to look forward to. Catalytic converters always converting, exhaust exhaling, fumes of diesel or gasoline burning through the engine blocks.