Sounds, Noises, or What?

I am willing to let the reader take what each will from my poem below.

                                          The house
                                                          is empty.
                                                                       Wind rattles
                                                                                          the windows,
                                           making no sounds
                                                            as no one
                                                                        is there to
                                                                                          hear them.
                                            Apples fall
                                                             from the
                                                                              old  tree.
                                                                                           They roll
                                            down the
                                                             slanted roof,
                                                                              again making
                                                                                            no sound,
                                             for I don.t
                                                             think the ghosts
                                                                                have ears.
                                             The house,
                                                              standing there now,
                                                                               however, remembers
                                                                                           when children
                                              raced through,
                                                                chasing things
                                                                               that were
                                                                                    never caught,
                                              yet made sounds
                                                                   that had
                                                                               been heard
                                                                                    and understood.
            
                                                                                             

Long Journey

    I do not like driving, but sometimes I have to go, and I just have to make the best of it.  I usually find the worrying about it is the worst part..


                    Waiting to start
                                the journey
                                      seemed to
                      be the worst part.
                                The questions
                                      in my mind
                      produced the
                                 worst possible
                                       scenarios.
                     Imagination did
                                  its best
                                        to frighten me.
                     After I
                                  got started,
                                         the humming
                      of the car's
                                  tires and the
                                          many colored
                       leaves on
                                   the trees brought
                                           calm enough to
                       help me
                                    enjoy what I
                                            had to do.