Baseball on the radio.
The background noise as the train you’re on chugs along through the night.
Thunderstorms.
The sound of an old house settling at night in the winter.
The polite cacophony of an orchestra tuning up immediately before a performance.
Three part harmony.
The different regional accents in the customs line at the airport after being out of the country.
The sound of the TARDIS.
Willie Nelson’s voice.
Celtling and her friends making that unbelievably high-pitched squeal that little girls do when they’re playing happily together. Most of the Moms hate it, and some even order them to “stop screaming” which makes me sick.
It’s the sound of bliss, and it warms my heart.
When I was about 10, we had one TV in the house. Mom and Dad insisted on watching this show on TV on Saturday nights.
This noise made me very happy, because it meant that their show was over.
The “chuckling” sound of surf playing over a cobblestone beach.
it is magic if you have never heard it.
Waking to the “ha ha ha” of Laughing Gulls over a breaking surf at the break of dawn.
The song of the Black-faced Solitairein mist-shrouded, dripping cloud forest. On this page, cuts 2, 6, and 7 give the best sense of its call.
On a sailboat when the sails go up and you cut the engine.
Quiet sounds fill in from all different directions and they all mean something.
But mostly they mean your blood pressure just went down and the rest of the world blew away.
In a different direction, I submit
A sudden, surprised, “Crap!” (or the equivalent) coming from the person on the other team who’s supposed to be covering you.
Testify brother (or sister), testify!
My great grandmother was an avid fan of that show, and I always hated going to my grandmothers when she was over on Saturday, as I knew what was going to be on the TV. Lawrence Welk is not what a <10yo kid wants to watch… ever… even my 38yo self has no interest whatever.
Good one!
My Mum and Dad playing crib in the caravan with us tucked into the bunks behind the curtain, the rain pouring down and the hiss of the gas lamp. They used to swear at each other and it was very, very secure and comforting to hear them play and cackle at each other when they won!
The last little sigh as a baby gives up and lays his head on your shoulder to go to sleep.
My husband’s motorbike approaching the house, and his key in the lock.
My husband’s laugh. He’s a very barrel-chested man with a very deep voice. But his laugh? It’s a high pitched giggle. It never ever ceases to surprise me and make me laugh too.