A Golden Autumn Silence

Once upon a stormy time,
   a long, long time ago,
the autumn leaves came crashing down
   in half a foot of snow.

"Sparking wires," said the scanner,
   "sparking wires, wires down.
Stop reporting one by one,
   report them town by town."
I'm sure talk got more lively, but
   that's when mine went down.

Gasoline won't run the siren,
   the pagers worked just fine.
Firemen were needed everywhere,
   at dawn, I got back mine.

When the sun came out next morning,
   it melted all the snow.
That was sure a blessing:
   just chop up trees, and go!
When everyone needs water,
   firemen don't need snow.

And then the house got quiet.
   No clicks, no whines, no drone.
And then the world got quiet.
   The chain saws buzzed alone.
I wanted to write how fine it was.
   My typer did not moan.
I have a treadle sewing machine,
   a treadle iron — lingers
And seams in polyester
   just won't yield to fingers.

At last, one day, a NiMo truck
   went by at walking speed
I clapped my hands —
   if they hunt for breaks
   there can't be much we need
It must be soon, they must be near
   the end of their attack,
And sure enough, in two more hours,
   sweet cacophony was back.

                                 Joy Beeson

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