This is the time of year when we compare summer and winter, the usual pros and cons, and brace ourselves for the downward plunge into grey skies, shorter days and snow.

It usually comes down to a matter of personal preference: heat vs cold, light vs dark, ice cream vs hot tea, mowing the lawn vs shoveling the walk. Both seasons obviously have their merits and drawbacks – that’s one of the first lessons we learned growing up, so it isn’t exactly “news.” It’s just a fact of living on this planet, something we’re constantly having to relearn as climate change bears down on us. The seasons aren’t a true dichotomy; they’re on a spectrum.

I’ve realized I don’t hear as many conversations about how sound changes with the seasons. In general, of course, summer is loud and winter is quiet. But I love delving into the deeper hows and whys.

The world is getting louder, more intrusive. A great article from The Atlantic illustrates the rising threat of noise pollution to suburban communities and the people who advocate for quieter environments. Automobile and airplane traffic, car motors and blasting music, trains rumbling past, the hum of “chillers” from data storage warehouses – they take their toll. Sound is highly subjective, more noticeable within a certain decibel range. Earplugs don’t always work. Chances are, if certain sounds are a part of your everyday life (like parents with small children), they won’t be offensive to you.

Summer is open season for noise makers. It begins with songbirds and blue jays having their say. The weather warms up and kids come out to play (and shout) with reckless abandon, at the playground, up and down the street. Dogs bark and howl. Motorcycles roar to life. (The noise those things make? Intentional.) Music blares from cars, outdoor concerts and the odd smart phone. The heat rises from the 70s to the 80s and higher, and I grit my teeth and turn on the air conditioner, a window unit that makes an unavoidable amount of noise. To say nothing of the two fans I have going. It’s either this or suffer the heat and humidity.

Then… comes Independence Day. Even if one’s city doesn’t offer a fireworks show, everyone else is setting off explosives in their yards and driveways. Last July 4th felt louder to me than years’ past, like I was sitting inside a popcorn pan or a war zone. The cat was, of course, ensconced in the closet. Afterwards, the drone of cicadas and crickets is the death of summer, which lasts till the temperature drops.

If I seem over-dramatic, it’s only because I notice so much. It’s physiological. I’m naturally introverted and highly sensitive to sound. I am the person who has to plug her ears when a fire engine or an ambulance (often both) barrels past or the city tests the tornado sirens. It literally feels like a spike being driven through my eardrums. That’s the point; they need to get your attention.

I love fall and winter for the calming down of the soundscape. The radiator makes the occasional pleasant clink and gurgle. Falling rain is perfect ambient sound. And a snowstorm, even if the winds are howling, can be a whirlwind of quiet. It’s not silence; it’s hush. After the snow has fallen, the entire world is insulated. Even the snow ploughs are quiet. A lone cardinal singing into a winter morning is pure glory.

Summer sounds invade. Winter sounds soothe. My creative seasons change, too: quiet when I’m making something new; loud when I’m being analytical and objective. When I’m writing a draft or a blog post or journaling, I don’t usually play music or write in bustling coffee shops. It gets into my thought process and tangles me up and drains my energy.

When I’m editing I put in earbuds (lest I upset the cat) and work to the urgent soundscapes of Two Steps from Hell, J.S. Bach, Apocalyptica and movie soundtracks. I crave music or my favorite podcasts when I’m crafting, cooking, or cleaning. In this way I am part of the soundscape, experiencing it, rather than being at its mercy.

I’m extremely lucky to live where I do. In a smallish city (less than 300,000) in the Great Plains, a half-block from a busy street, within walking distance of work. No kids live in my apartment building. There are no dogs. The building is brick and cement, so sound doesn’t travel as easily. I don’t worry about disturbing my neighbors with the vacuum or the kettle or my own music. The world stops when I come home. And I love that. My brain, which has been in a lively soundscape all day at work, can relax.

Quiet is a clean backdrop, a place of rest. That’s what winter is: rest, a beautiful blank canvas full of possibilities.

So, spare some love for winter. Enjoy the quiet and carry out daily hygge rituals: candles, books, warm drinks. Think of the next blizzard as a chance to hunker down and revitalize. To grow. 🍂