Image via WikipediaSunday. I woke to a cool, damp breeze coming through the windows. The birds were gracious and sang softly, almost keeping time with the small, delicate wind chime hanging in the patio alcove. It was a pleasure to relax and enjoy all this, but was short-lived because one-by-one, three cats made their wishes known to be let outside. I got up, made coffee, watered the house plants and started up the computer. I took a cup of the java, a good book and my pen, and went out on the south deck to enjoy the peace of the morning.
I like to say peace of the morning, but in reality the world outside my door is quite loud. As I walked out onto the deck a car drove past, tires and engine whistling down the road. I looked out over the railing of the deck and heard (then saw) the clip clop clip of the Amish horses, their shiny coats glistening in the morning sun, heading to Sunday meeting. Both instruments of percussion in a disproportionately large orchestra.
After the car and the buggies pass, what was in the background now comes to the fore. Birds everywhere, each with their different calls: ti da ti da, caw caw, coo hoo hoo hoo....robins, cardinals, finches, sparrows, crows, thrush, morning doves, the sandhill cranes in the fields and the bird song that I like the most - the red-winged blackbird. I hear the coyotes off in the distance, four or five voices all vying to be heard, an oddity at this time of day. Even the dog perks his ears up to listen...what are they chasing that they are out at this hour? A bumble bee, legs heavy with pollen, buzzes and flies from one hosta flower to the next, crawling in head first to gather the riches, then cleaning the petals as he backs out. A squirrel nick nick nicking, teasing or scolding a nearby cat. A fly zooms through my field of vision, making the dog jump up and bar, as if he could catch that tiny airplane. Flutes, piccalos, trumpets and clarinets. The woodwinds and brass.
More than machines and creatures fill the air with sound though. The breeze is running around the yard, softly whispering this morning. It gently rustles through the trees and bushes, each change in its movement lifting a leaf, moving a branch, creating a slight note of sound, cymbals and bells of the great orchestra in play. Yesterday, waking with an awful ache in my head, this all would have been noise, harsh and without bounds. Today, it is a symphony with hundreds of instruments. The breeze is soon followed by a deeper more profound movement - the sounds of shaking and bending. I can see it too. It creates a path through the trees and across the field grasses. It is the approach of something grander. Perhaps rain. So I gather my paper and pen, book and empty cup and head inside. The church-goers are out and about now so the sound of humanity intrudes, like an audience filing out of the theater at the end of the show. My morning ritual is done and it's time to join the audience.
So ends my post for Sunday morning, July 11, 2010.
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