Updated- Sounds That Stay
Some people remember faces. Others remember places. I remember sound. In this lyrical audio story, Mary Monoky invites us into a world shaped by the sounds that linger—the baby's laugh, the call of a freight train, the jingle of an ice cream truck. These aren't just background noises. They're anchors. Echoes. Proof that we’ve lived and loved. The Sounds That Stay is a meditation on memory, place, and belonging—for anyone who’s ever heard a sound that stirred something deep inside.
Mary Monoky
8/8/20252 min read
This is a story about the sounds we carry—
the ones that anchor us to who we’ve been,
and where we’ve belonged.
It’s called “The Sounds That Stay.”
Some people remember faces.
Others, places.
I remember sound.
Not just any sound—
the ones that stir something in me,
that tug on memory,
that make me feel alive.
A baby's laugh that bubbles up from the belly—
pure, contagious joy.
Wind chimes dancing in a summer breeze—
soft and unbothered.
A boat horn calling out as the Tacony-Palmyra Bridge begins to rise—
steady, certain, purposeful.
Freight trains rolling through Riverton—
long, low, and steady.
A sound you feel in your ribs before you hear it with your ears.
Through my hometown.
Through time itself.
A marching band swelling with the Star-Spangled Banner—
where pride and nostalgia live side by side.
The playful chaos of the calliope at the church carnival—
cotton candy on the air,
sneakers on gravel,
colored lights decorating the evening sky.
A Black Forest cuckoo clock chirping into a quiet room—
small, specific, loved.
The jingle of an ice cream truck weaving through summer heat—
reminding me to run, to hope, to taste.
There's the ordinary holiness:
Church bells tolling over rooftops.
The soft hoot of a Barred Owl in the dark.
A car's polite honk saying hello—
brief, warm, and neighborly.
The front gate latch jiggling—
unexpected, familiar, welcoming.
The ringtone I assigned to someone I loved—
instantly recognizable,
now achingly missed.
And then—
there’s weather.
Rain on a tin roof, steady as breath.
Wild winds ripping through the trees while I'm safe inside—
the kind of storm that reminds you
you're warm,
you're home,
you're still here.
The soft crackle of the fireplace, low and steady—
its rhythm almost a heartbeat.
Thunder crashing—raw and unapologetic.
The lightning alarm sounding—sharp, electric, expectant.
And Chuck Mangione's trumpet—Feels So Good—
because sometimes music says everything words can't.
These are the sounds I carry.
They are not background noise.
They are landmarks.
They are proof.
That I have lived,
that I have loved,
that I have belonged—
somewhere,
to someone,
in moments that mattered.
I long to hear them again.
And when I can't,
I remember.
Because some sounds don't fade.
They echo.
Some sounds fade... and some stay with us forever.
If this story brought someone—or something—to mind,
let it stay with you.