Whistling: Food for Thought
Yesterday morning, I was not alone at the keyboard.
In my company, on my desk pad, climbing up my clamp-on lamp, and streaming out from under the National Geographic that, for reasons I cannot explain, has been on my desk now for at least six months, were a hundred very small, very black, very fast ants.
Had I left them to their work and purpose (I imagined them and even think I heard them whistling Colonel Bogie March while they worked) they would have mustered a sufficient strength of numbers to carry me back to their hidey-hole out under the foundation plantings in front of house. I was ready to let them. It’s time to move on.
But I grew selfish with my personal space and corpus, and did wax wroth against the insects. Under the aforementioned NG magazine, I placed several drops of Terra Ant Liquid, the book held aloft to create a cozy and protective shadow by other pieces of what my little life-mate chooses to call “clutter”, also on my desk the same half year.
And into that sheltered place did stream hundreds of animated, whistling black specks, meaning me no personal harm, it is true, aside from serving me ultimately for a meal for their ant-babies. I am here to serve.
And they did drink heartily, little slurping sounds emanating from the shadows the day long, until they marched in lock step, happy and full, back from whence they came. And lo, this morning, I am alone at the keyboard, whistling in the dark.
And all this talk of whistling has lead me to remember a haunting, whistled tune from decades ago, for which I cannot find a name. SoundHound failed me. And so, when the dog awakes (she too would have me for dinner) I will record a short clip (click the link above) and see if any of you three readers might help me to name that tune.Â [UPDATE: see COMMENTS for the answer.]
Meanwhile, be entertained by the “History of Whistling.” I was.