The Cacophony of Morning

Summer mornings are always an adventure of awakening.  This morning, it began with the stealth of muted sound as one bird, then another and another, gave voice to the start of their day, whispered at first in to the fog of this day’s dawning (whether the fog actually mutes their cries or not, I cannot say, but it seems so).

In short order (apparently it only takes one or two to wake the whole crowd), thousands of voices of hundreds of different calls and cries filled the air, chased by the sounds of cars and trucks and log trucks and other hauling equipment passing by, hurrying from one place to another, filling the air with the noise of their impatience as they whiz by.

As quickly as they came, their noise fades back to the birds, quietened by their departures for parts unknown, til it be night again and they return to settle in, calling out their subdued good-nights.

And tomorrow it begins again.

I am always struck by the great band of the noises of the morning – so quickly upon me and so quickly passed by.  Some mornings, I let it all wash over me and pass back to my own rest.  Others, I bound out of bed, energized by the hustle and bustle outside my window.

Sundays are the best, when, after the lull, as the morning grows late, Glen walks his way to church, singing his baritone glories to God along the way.

I never tire of the serenade of the morning.  I just wish I knew the notes for the song of the log trucks – bass profundo with their reverb bouncing off the house and setting it to joining in the song.  Maybe tomorrow I’ll try to sing along with them.

The Alarm Clock Ballet

In this second career of ministry in a rural setting, most days I no longer have to live by the alarm sounding time to get up . . . most days I just get up when I wake up – a lovely gift of living to the rhythms of my body and the world around me – most days.

But some days an alarm is required – like today.

And can I just say how demonic I think the inventor of the snooze button is?  Who came up with that nefarious idea that we can somehow buy ourselves just a little more sleep by the hit of a button?  Really, who?  You can tell us.  We won’t hurt you – well, maybe only a little.

But I digress.

I put my alarm just out of reach so that I actually have to get out of bed to turn it off.  Otherwise me and snoozie just sleep on into the day 5 minutes or so at a time.

Even that doesn’t work for this deep sleeper, though, as I’m fully capable of jumping out of bed, hitting snooze and going right back into the warmth of the covers for those precious 5 more minutes.

Usually the maneuver looks like a fish jumping from the water and plunging back in again with that slight hesitation at the top of the arc.

But some days, waking happy if sleepy, I do the alarm clock ballet:

Jump from bed

Land on one tip toe

Straighten knee

Hit snooze with one delicate pointed finger

Pirouette

Fall gracefully

Repeat

It’s my own personal alarm clock ballet, this move, proving to myself that I can still dance, even if it’s in the morning when no one else can see, even if the grace of the move lies only in my imagining, and yes, it is good and smiling, I plunge back into my dreams.

The Birds Insist

The birds insist I get up
and greet the new day
for they will give me
no rest – their symphony
erupting, as it does, into
the morning sub-conscious
strata of my oh-so-happy-
to-be-in-a-warm-bed mind

I jump up like a ninja
I’ve still got it!
and fall gracefully
back into the warmth

Sunday beckons and
I will get up – just
not yet, not now

but the birds insist

Morning Fancies

I.

There!
There he is
visible only from
the corner of my eye
Tiger, Tiger, burning bright
striding across the morning sky
hunched shoulders in pounce mode
sunlight and clouds creating the pattern
the menace of meaning whenever there is
a tiger stalking the sky – I am no Pi (pie?), sir,
and this is not my life – why are tigers always so . . . hungry?

II.

the crackle and creak
and wrangle and break
that is the sound of my body
in the morning
awakens the birds
I’ll be quieter tomorrow,
I whisper them as I arise

III.
I enjoy a warm cup of morning fog
with the start of my day
here in mountain retreat
where mist settles into
mountain’s belly
and offers itself up
with each new-day mantra –
drink me –

Waking Up

She's there again -- Ms. Goose -- honking her wake up message for all to hear.  And he's there too -- listening Bird, answering Bird, whistling a lovely pitch (what key is that?).

The fog hangs over the distant lake as the sun slowly moves across each droplet suspended in mid-air.

And for a moment, all is stillness.  Ms. Goose is drawing breath, Bird listens, and in the in-betweenness, a splash -- heard as clearly as if I were the one diving into the so-cold water -- travels across the distance from lake to me.

That sound -- that single quiet splash in the even quieter morning -- vivifies . . . everything.

I am alive.

And it is a good day.

Dancing into Morning

With morning

comes the lightness

the diffuse

creeping dawn

gently announcing a new day

Happy knees will still bend

arms still raise

I bound from the bed

and dance into its embrace

for a moment

and then I surrender

back to gravity

falling into the warmth

that cocooned me

in the night

Bed