The sounds of the construction site next door are starting to annoy me ever so slightly. The yelps and barks of workers, the whining and rumbling of machines, and the clang of tools are all around me from dawn till dusk. Every day except Sunday, which I am now beginning to cherish. And this is only the beginning. Months upon noisy months still lie ahead. But am I complaining about the sounds of the construction site next door? Not in the slightest. Absolutely not. I am only complaining about my own inability to take these sounds as the chirping of birds, the rustling of leaves in the wind, and the caws of crows flying past the Motovun hill.