recordings
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Track 1:
a deer on the run barks.
First, our voices. We have the horses, said good night.
Then our steps. The ground is soft, but on top of the track you can hear the footsteps, scraping the gravel.
now no sound, I turned off the deer in the tall grass. It sees us and hold still as if it could make us believe the fact that it was not there. Invisible for many seconds at a time. We will also know I want to know what will happen next.
Does anybody hear the horror?
The deer turns and runs away with a set of broad jumps. His speed, it can almost hide it once more before my eyes. Later we see it again.
Track 2:
A hammer strikes at something, or an ax. The tool must be large and heavy. In a city where all sides are torn up roads and houses gutted , I pay no attention anymore. I would have almost not seen the black woodpecker.
without the forest on a birch tree crown. At eye level. As he vigorously slams his head and then just walk to the back of the trunk when he sees me. As he looks, peeps left and right, whether I am still here.
Track 3:
I heard the ice floes. The bridge piers under me has one, which next meets on the first, the water pushes examined other. They draw on the Spree river freeze by the ugly city or if it gets colder, laid before the bridge. Above, where I am, people make all the noise and their machines. Even the electricity, the large letters on the building and the fashion models on the moving billboard hanging in my ears. And only if I listen, I hear from the bottom up from another room, what do the ice, and that they exist, they are also there in the water I hear otherwise never when I pass the bridge.
Track 4: The cuckoo
you go immediately into the ear. It sounds like all the world makes you believe that sound like a cuckoo bird should. Many times, just back! You mean now could be an end to the instruction, you know sound like a cuckoo. But from the impenetrable tangle of branches and twigs and leaves, it calls again and again. Who is that? cuckoo call children from her hiding place, but no one jumps out from under the hazel, and no waves you from the pasture. The minor third down again and again, and well spoken, quick on! The terrible beast!
Track 5: The Harvester
makes a noise!
Track 6: In the winter
blissful noise from the ivy on the wall. I see none.
Track 7:
A nasty cockroaches. What the recording shows, the squirrel with the nut between the front paws.
Track 8:
time in January. I have the cuckoo heard again. A second time, if not the first time I wanted to believe. But the proof that I'm imagining nothing, gives me only the third time, it remains the last time being. It is the kuck of Cuckoo, the last you see, it is not the first. Maybe it was yet another bird, especially a comic.
Track 9:
The thick snow absorbs all sound. Not the woodpecker knocking us over. But I listen to children's voices, squealing, to cheers, any sounds from them. If the woodpecker paused - what he considered up there in between so long? - I hear the snow. A nursery school in the forest is a good thing. If I had kept looking for him in the direct path. Suddenly everything looks the same. My cell phone is useless to me because I do not know my own coordinates. The child, the newly added rules from seeking to make transparent, the carriages a quarter-hour Way to withdraw and try out a new path with a fresh track that can not be our. Sled runners and boots impressions about a shoe size larger than my me to speak loudly and cheerfully. It is still all around me as before. But I drowned in triumph. And before I hear the operating noise of the forest nursery, I see in the distance a dog team like ours, too far to call it, and shortly after the first splash of color among the trees.
Repeated listening to Track 9 shows me ears, how loud it is, after all in my head. Stop button.
Track 10:
only imagine how the willow branches stretch to the sky, the recent Rods enjoy their first summer, the tribe has seen perhaps 50 years. First set down under the tree and wonder at the silence. I'm sorry, I'm scared away the wood pigeon without intention. Only sit back and feel the furrowed bark at the back.
to be alone with the insects. The Pacific, you do not hear when they run.
A mosquito approaches the right ear. Is she gone, are the heart and breathing the strongest tone generator at that location. To fly a fly under the tree tent. The drone is a feast for the ears.
Then I urge you to turn down. This recording is overridden. Under the tree, however, one must deliver quiet the noise. Perhaps it is first still uncomfortable when someone swing a wooden ratchet over your head, this "toy" to make noise. If you think they clamor and fight - because both were already told about magpies - then it robbed the nerve of you and you would like to ride in between. The more you hineinbegibst but you will probably feel the mystical in it. The second part of the sound recording is controlled to well and can again be enjoyed at full volume.
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