First: you may disagree, but I don’t demean a beautiful wood grain by referring to it as white noise.
Sometimes the most powerful tonic is a meditative white noise. It’s one of the things I love about the hustle-bustle of this town. Everything retreats as you wander; as you dive inward for a moment— take an amuse-bouche of psychic space. A slice of some steady static can be a city person’s version of soft, reassuring silence.
As a farm girl, I tell you it’s a quieter version of the symphony of cricket-song, late on an early summer’s night. It’s a cacophony of release.
I give you: w o o d g r a i n !