Godzilla starts his rampage in the pristine quiet of the morning. Just as you sit on your patio and take your first sip of coffee and breathe in the cool fresh air, the dreaded leaf-blower man – Godzilla – starts roaming about, stirring up large clouds of dust as he scatters his swirling mess with a very loud gas-powered contraption, which has absolutely no value for yardwork whatsoever.
Quiet is a vanishing resource. Amid the din of noisy car mufflers (deliberately altered to create an ear-piercing scream) and loud amplification systems in cars where the bass is so loud you can feel its throbbing sensation, it is certain that our peace of mind and once-quiet enjoyment is fast disappearing and is being replaced by noise that is making us nervous and sick.
Quiet is a need, just like clean water, fresh air, privacy and our once-restful way of life.
Try to leave the city to get away from it temporarily? Good luck. I once went up to Mount Charleston to take in the beautiful autumn foliage, and my relaxation was violated by a group of motorcyclists as their combined rumbling of engines reverberated throughout the pristine canyons.
If this poisonous noise problem is not controlled, it will soon control us. We will be robbed of any quiet corner where we can look at the blue sky and clouds and let our thoughts meander with the falling leaves.
Godzilla must be challenged. This is a fight we must win. We can’t afford to lose, or the noise bullies will continue to get stronger and stronger. Restful quiet comes from heaven. Noise comes from the “other place.”