The joy of Hurd's book derives, in part, from the intimacy of the whole enterprise. Hurd's writing is, at times, so personal and meditative that readers may feel as if they're eavesdropping, recipients of a secret knowledge. Equally winning is her constant looping back and forth between the natural terrain she observes and the parallels to her own life - and ours - in the 21st century. All this, interspersed with references to the Mozart sonata she's studying in her piano lessons and to other composers - Pachelbel, Messiaen, Schoenberg and Cage - who have filled the cultural canon. This book about listening proves also to be a surprising adventure. Hurd's probing mind, her knack for keen questions and her lyrical prose easily pique our interest. Moreover, the author has an engaging sidekick through 3/4 much of the book, her 5-year-old granddaughter, Samantha, who serves as a metaphysical imp. Samantha's unguarded curiosity and her absurdist patter, as they hike alongside the river, only add to the book's abundant charm.