Anybody who habitually records sound has those moments of serendipity when the recorder happens to be rolling while something really wonderful happens. Similarly, there are the sounds that get away, the ones that end while you're fumbling with the mic cables, or with the cell phone. Or the ones that are physically impossible to record (or close enough to it for our purposes).

I've only gotten to go to the Deep Listening Retreat once, in 2006, but it changed the way I think about sound, particularly the degree and the quality of the attention I give it. There are times when I find myself inordinately drawn to remembering the sounds that I couldn't record, and it's interesting to realize how, even though they aren't there, you can still study them, you can still notice new things about them. The richness of the sound and the experience of hearing it doesn't diminish over time. It's surprisingly unrelated to the presence or absence of a recording.

We got home the other night after sunset, but while the sky was still darkening, and as we got out of the car, a flock of geese took off. From every direction, there were loud, individual rustlings of brush and branches and leaves and a rapid beating of wings as each goose took off. You could hear the noisy ascent through the trees into open air, and you could hear them calling as they flew, the calls coming from every direction and coalescing in the distance. It was as if we had accidentally wandered into the middle of a secret goose ritual, and now that we had found them out they had to scatter, and fast. It was a surreal moment, even more so because, try as we might, we couldn't see a single goose.

I snapped this picture while grabbing for my cell phone, hoping to capture some semblance of the sound by recording a video. This is the exact color that the sky was.

How about you? Any favorites?