This morning we were awoken early by a mysterious series of tones. It sounded a little like organ notes, and B. even went out to the garage to see if the electric organ had a Halloween prankster—but that wasn’t it. When we opened the window, it was a little louder. I thought of the Buddhist monks that walk along Wyatt Way, beating their drums. Were they playing pan pipes? At 5 in the morning? Sometimes the notes reverberated, sometimes they sounded a touch vibrato, sometimes they seemed to be coming from different sources and in perfect fifths. I was sleepily mystified, and utterly unable to sleep.
It took waking up to thick fog to realize that–duh–we had been hearing foghorns from the harbor, distorted enough to be entirely musical.