I live in Hawaii, where most people think the only sounds are the ocean and palm trees swaying in the breeze. We do hear the palm trees sway occasionally, but the ocean is about half a mile away.
I live in the second largest city in the state and the nights are alive with noise. Most nights it's the sound of rain on the roof, somewhere in the range between gentle and deafening. Most nights the rain and the coqui frogs compete.
But there are rare nights, like this one, when the stars are out and the coquis are quiet.
I hear sirens and cars; the sounds of city life. I hear the scream princesses that live next door, training to be scream queens one day, splashing about in their elevated swimming pool living as if there were no tomorrow.
The airport is less than a mile away, so we also hear planes coming and going and helicopters, too, as the military practice their touch and goes in the dark. Sometimes the house shakes the helicopters fly so low.
I hear the lady down the street laugh at the same time every weeknight. I try to remind myself to check TV Guide to find out what's so funny, but I never remember.
We hear fights, too. Unpleasant boozy fights. Threats to pour the liquor down the toilet.
We learned the names of our neighbors and we haven't even met them yet.
The night is alive with all sorts of noises, the sounds of my new home.