The washing machine is a cacophony of sounds.
The rush of the fill is a great waterfall, deafening in its hurry to fill the hollow drum. As it fills, the water splashes in great big drops of rain into the foamy pool below. The tone of the fill changes as the water creeps up the sides of the metal drum, a scale of more than an octave in pitch.
When the water stops, the silence is as deafening as the rush, and then the water is in motion once again. The swirl and push of the water back and forth is agitated and wild.
The bubbles pop and wilt in the drama of the swishing.
Soon the action is over and the water begins to recede with the pleasant gurgle of the drain. It happily drips away into the void where dirty water goes away. A fresh waterfall of clear, cool water strips away the film of the past and repeats the giggling drain.
Again there is quiet. It is a moment of rest and tranquility like the calm before a storm.
When the drum beings to spin again, it goes loud and fast, twirling into an oblivion of clean. Water droplets fly into the atmosphere as the cyclone whirls.
After only a short while the whirling dervish stops and there is peace and order once again.