She nods at the warning for the road, and tries to figure out how to put everything she hears into words. With things being so felt for so long, it's...oh, more than once she wishes she could just touch someone and convey it all, but the duty of a poet is to give language to the inexpressible.
"I hear me, to start with. I hear my own footsteps, which tell me what I'm walking over, and I hear my cane, and from it I know what is around me, what might be coming up, when the sound comes back to me in a different shape. I hear you, and your footsteps - I can tell how fast you're going from them, how your stride might be, and the small things that people don't usually think make noise. Right now, there's the town, and I can tell the three different families we'll pass by - not from their voices, but because of how they walk, and how they open and close a door. One of the stones in the walk up ahead is loose enough to grind when you step over it, right next to the wall, and that's usually when I know I'm going in the right direction, especially since the scent of the sea isn't as strong as the other way. "
She continues on, never breaking her stride.
"In the far distance, there's the forge, and there's someone a ways ahead who just got wind chimes, because I hear them when the breeze goes by, like right now. There's a rhythm to when people talk on the streets - it's louder when it's warmer - but it's not strangely quiet, so that tells me it's a normal day. Kind of akin to how waves come in and out of the shore. And someone's just come out of the place two buildings ahead, because their door just opened, so I know I should move a little to the left in case they come this way."
Which she does, making unconscious way for the person who's come out and hurrying by.
"I can keep going on, but that's just a fragment. Being here, I have to let some of it fade into the background and pick and choose what to focus on, or else I'd give myself a headache. When I'm out of the town, then I can expand that focus." A pause. "Sometimes people walk more deliberately so I can hear them better. I don't tell them I know."
no subject
"I hear me, to start with. I hear my own footsteps, which tell me what I'm walking over, and I hear my cane, and from it I know what is around me, what might be coming up, when the sound comes back to me in a different shape. I hear you, and your footsteps - I can tell how fast you're going from them, how your stride might be, and the small things that people don't usually think make noise. Right now, there's the town, and I can tell the three different families we'll pass by - not from their voices, but because of how they walk, and how they open and close a door. One of the stones in the walk up ahead is loose enough to grind when you step over it, right next to the wall, and that's usually when I know I'm going in the right direction, especially since the scent of the sea isn't as strong as the other way. "
She continues on, never breaking her stride.
"In the far distance, there's the forge, and there's someone a ways ahead who just got wind chimes, because I hear them when the breeze goes by, like right now. There's a rhythm to when people talk on the streets - it's louder when it's warmer - but it's not strangely quiet, so that tells me it's a normal day. Kind of akin to how waves come in and out of the shore. And someone's just come out of the place two buildings ahead, because their door just opened, so I know I should move a little to the left in case they come this way."
Which she does, making unconscious way for the person who's come out and hurrying by.
"I can keep going on, but that's just a fragment. Being here, I have to let some of it fade into the background and pick and choose what to focus on, or else I'd give myself a headache. When I'm out of the town, then I can expand that focus." A pause. "Sometimes people walk more deliberately so I can hear them better. I don't tell them I know."