morning song

I woke in the late dark and lay listening to the roar of silence. Maybe it's because this house is on a plain, I don't know, but the nights are filled with a great rushing, like trucks driving constantly past although there are none, or like the sea thrashed with madness despite the calmest weather. I want to go walking in the darkness to investigate, but somehow I don't think I'll find anything.

There was no getting back to sleep with that clamour of magic and mystery. After a while, the dark began easing, and the silence gentled. Then came the sudden clatter of a blackbird's first call, as if he was shaking out the morning. Soon afterwards, sparrow song began pecking at the quiet - little stars of sound that would, with daybreak, pervasive like the sunlight. And then there was the sound of the thrush, the bellbird, and the lush coo of doves - so many birds around a house that has so few trees in its neighbourhood.

Each touching upon life with their song, their hymn-making. It was as if a hundred bells were ringing - each bird's small heart a church.

I don't like mornings. For me, they hold too much love, and unlike Robert Frost I find myself overwhelmed.


3 comments:

  1. "It was as if a hundred bells were ringing - each bird's small heart a church." ♥

    I like mornings . . .and afternoons and evenings. I only sleep because I have to.



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  2. Beautiful. I read this just after I awoke to the bird's morning songs. It was the first time this year I slept with the window open. When the birds sing in the possibilities of each day, they remind me to do the same.

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