Sound Of Home

Recalling lakefront sounds
of slow water-lapping,
slapping on docks,
slight ting of it against
aluminum boats,
and from over there
a voice and then
a screen door
shutting once, creaking
back open a touch,
then shutting for good.

Here and now, though,
there are grackles scolding
squirrels scolding
sparrows out front;
inside big kitty is snoring
as little kitty reshuffles herself
and settles on her perch.

Missing the lake now
precisely as I would miss the cats and birds
if I were at the lake.

Nowhere sounds like home
yet everywhere sounds like home.

I wonder if your true home 
is only found
in the complete absence of sound.
Would that silence hold
or would it fill
with all you’ve ever heard?