-from out-of-the-blue to someplace else-

1.
visiting friends in Manhattan

(East 53rd street) within sight of the tall, white building

with the strange 45 degree angled top where solar panels
were to be installed, except the angle was the wrong angle,

I noticed, particularly in the early evening when people

were vacating the office buildings, the vehicular horns,

not only of taxicabs, but also personal cars, and

business trucks, (trucks with short-enough wheelbases

to be allowed on the streets) formed an urban cacophony of sound,

were never complained of as “noise” or "unnatural disturbances,"

but were engaged in never-ending one-way grievances with

the aggrieved's intended recipient not paying the slightest

degree of attention, being busy blowing his own horn at another guy.

2.
on a recent late afternoon, months after the horn stylings of East 53rd street

as I sat ensconced within the bucolic nature of South Swansea, the short

burst of a horn delivered from a snazzy late-model Range Rover cruising

down the quiet tree-lined road of homes with nicely mowed frontage,

in neighborly recognition of the casual motorist to the hedge trimming perfectionist,

got me to thinking...