Stop for a minute. Sit back, relax, close your eyes and just listen.



What you hear is one of the principal artifacts of our Civilization – a confusion of noise. Each sound represents a machine, vehicle, television, phone, radio or some human interaction. Some of what you hear may be intended for your ears, but, for the most part, it's just an enervating din.

I was reminded of this fact one gorgeous day recently in a quite unexpected manner. Now is when sage scrub covered slopes and canyons approach their peak growing season. I wanted to see what effect the lack of rain had had on plants and wildlife. Moreover, since this was the historic flight period for the Palos Verdes Blue Butterfly, I particularly wanted to check out a major stand of locoweed, its host food plant in an old quarry. The view of the ocean there, and Catalina beyond, is magnificent, but what had once been a thriving patch of locoweed had disappeared. Nor did the other plants seem happy about the persistent drought.

As I made my way into the box canyon beyond, the very quiet of the place suddenly overpowered me. The constant drone of civilization fell away, replaced by subtler sounds of the life around me. It was one of those magic moments when the only thing to do is sit down and allow sun and serenity to wash through you.

Behind me, I could hear the faint fall of water in the tiny rill at the canyon's head.  A pair of Ravens croaked loudly, declaring to one and all their claim to ownership of the steep canyon walls. I could hear the "tink" call of a California Towhee in the coyote brush on the canyon floor.

A hummed murmur announced the bees searching for pollen and nectar in the scattered early blossoms of buckwheat. A fly of some unknown sort buzzed around me, as if to investigate the usefulness of my presence, then continued on its way, destination also unknown.

I could hear the soft "tchup" of a Hermit Thrush below echoed by another in the lush glade beside me. However, Hermit Thrushes are shy birds, so it was quite some time before I saw one, though that was definitely not by accident. If thrushes are shy birds, they brook no nonsense when it comes to feeding territories! Thus it was a mad chase of two birds through the underbrush that let me glimpse the characteristic brown back and spotted breast of the species.

That is not to say no sounds of civilization were present. An airplane passing overhead trailed a low level rumble that slouched uncomfortably into my small valley, as though it knew it didn't belong. A Bewick's Wren fussed as if in rebuke. The slight balmy breeze scarcely moved the brittle leaves of the plants around me. The peacefulness and the sunlit warmth of the place was refreshing and tremendously revitalizing. I could feel a tension, of which I been unaware, drain away.

The reminder that there are a few spots of serenity left in our frenzied world was exhilarating. I think we all need to take time occasionally to remind ourselves of what our world might really be like. Time to sit back, relax and just listen.