Sound is so different, depending on the sun, and how it traverses the sky. The summer sun is high and loud and sharper than crystal. The days grow shorter, and the sun drifts to the south, until I can no longer see the sunset from here. Sound gets muffled, strewn beneath the dry shuffle of leaves scraping against the pavement. By winter, the world will quiet, and you'll nearly hear the snow, flying with the wind.