This morning, the past thirteen minutes to be precise, I have been inundated with numerous squeals and sounds from outside.
Was that a cat in heat? No. It was a child screaming for help.
Was that a peacock? No. It was another child in full tantrum shrills.
If I hear these sounds later in the day, I am less bothered. They are children and usually they are tired and in need of naps.
But in the mornings, I feel like Old Woman Caruthers and I want to take to my balcony and shout “Hey you pesky kids! Get off my lawn!!!” Or “Quit your squealing! I am trying to watch my stories!!”
Maybe it is time to move to a remote mountain top where the only sounds I hear are the shrieks of a hawk soaring through the sky.
Or, maybe I just get over it and look deeper into my limited patience and lack of any empathy for a screaming child.