Mockingbird photo, Mimus Polyglottos, from US Fish and Wildlife Service via Wikipedia Commons.

Between the blast of power tools—leaf blowers, chain saws, compressors, nail guns—the howl of dogs disturbed by the blast of power tools, the screech of children running and riling the howling dogs disturbed by the blast of power tools, the train transporting the parents of screeching children riling howling dogs disturbed by the blast of power tools, the growling helicopters flying low enough to measure low-level radiation coming off the ground over which the train moves parents of screeching kids riling howling dogs disturbed by the blast of power tools, comes in a rare moment the song of a bird.

But is it the soothing, sympathetic coo of a mourning dove? Is it the sweet trill of a little wren snitching berries from my garden? Of course not. In my neighborhood, during this rare moment free of blasting and howling, screeching and growling comes the cacophony of a mockingbird who changes her tune and her tone and her delivery every five seconds, frenetically.

I have not even gotten out of bed on this noisy morning when words come to me, and to my surprise, I can hear them. They have nothing to do with the book I’m writing but they seem brilliant anyway. I arrive at this line: Occupy the moment. I think I will.

• See my post on focus, “How to Free a Hummingbird.”

How do you mitigate noise when you want to write?

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