"You don't hear any passing cars from here," my friend Mark observed with a smile.
I realized he was right, and it struck me that those sounds you don't hear -- and those you do hear -- say so much about why I cherish evenings on the beaver pond.
Sounds we did hear? A chorus of chirps and croaks from various frogs; insects and birds; one another's words; two of my sons laughing from a canoe accross the pond; Marks popping bug popping ; my Crickhopper gurgling; and an occasional big splash when a bass or bream took a liking to one of our surface offerings.
All sounds I really like to hear.