The sounds of home

I'm writing now to the whoosh-bang of nail-guns, the gentle hum of an air compressor, the scraping and slurping of the dog at her food bowl, and nearly inaudible conversations in Spanish coming from the roof.

The buzz of mosquitoes is conspicuously absent, unlike the mosquitoes themselves.

Now the hiss of the air compressor dying, sounding so much like the steam whistle in the Flintstones opening, signaling the end of the workday.

Since the mosquitoes either don't like the taste of the blood of the workers or are simply too numerous to be sated on anything but my flesh, and the dog has finished her business with the outdoors, I am moving this inside.

The roofers are hammering now, a much more intrusive noise inside than out, and the sound of my roommate and his girlfriend can be sporadically heard above the pounding, speaking of video games and love.

The sounds of exodus continue, truck engines grumbling to life, the clatter of ladders being withdrawn from the roof, the back gate scraping shut.

The final car door slams shut, and the engine sounds fade into the distance.

The house is relatively silent, only the hum of the air conditioner, the creak and whirl of the fan, the scrape of the dogs claws against the sliding class door, and the clicking of the keys of my laptop fill the air.