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 In-Between Silence

I love the in between silence
in the mornings when the birds
and the passing cars compete
to bring wakefulness into the
recesses of the time and space
I occupy – of course I like the
birds the best – nature’s alarm
clock is hard to beat . . .

but best of all I like the two-count
of the in-between – the silent
moment that stands alone
beckoning me into a new day
until another bird, another car
decides it’s been long enough
this silence of the in-betweenness
of things and the chorus begins
again

The Reveal

I watch the redolent splendor
the luxury of sleep merging
into wakefulness back into
sleep - the gift of the one who
has nowhere to be at no particular
time – and observe as the satellite moves
across the dawning sky like a north
star in a March Hare kind of hurry
exiting stage right beyond the
picture-frame surround of the
double-paned window, a diptych
homage to the beauty of an emerging
daylight against the constancy of the
ridge line of mountains whose features
remain otherwise indistinguishable
in the still mostly-dark shadows of
the dawning and adore the rose-red
thread of color that expands and expands
into the sky like peek behind the curtain
a proud God pulls back, slowly, ever
so slowly, the magician child proclaiming
to the gathered and expectant family,
Ta-dah!