Mourning doves woke me in the morning also, when I was a child at Grandma's farm. The creak of the pump as my uncle pumped water for the drinking water bucket. The clang of the milk pails when they came back from the barn with buckets of milk and set them on the porch for separating. The bang of the wooden screen door.

My mother's friend said, "Those days are gone forever, but oh, the happy memories!"

Now: Frogs at night in the creek at the bottom of the hill.