Of course I always notice the birds.
I’m waiting for the robins to begin my morning–the cardinal, the flicker, the mockingbird. Then I will be certain spring has arrived. But the crows are back, as opinionated as always, and the crowds of blue jays and sparrows never left. A mourning dove croons from a nearby roof outside my kitchen window as the sun rises.
I habitually tune out the sirens, garbage trucks, helicopters, low-flying planes, motorcycles, cars and buses, construction—all the normal background noise of city living.
But the air itself has gotten louder lately. Sometimes when I wake up in the middle of the night I can barely hear myself think over its whisper-hum. My head is completely emptied of dreams; I am conscious only of my body in bed, surrounded by a constant movement murmuring in my ears.
Daylight does not mute the stormy sounds that show up suddenly and randomly, demanding attention, interrupting thought. The nonstop intersection of voices, layered in a language I don’t understand, drowns out all other discourse.
It reminds me of the ocean–unbroken, all-encompassing, alive. A presence much larger than my own. To be inside of it is perhaps all the translation, the guidance, that is necessary.
on the street dogs bark–
the sky darkens—lights turn on–
I breathe in, then out
I’m a little late with Sherry’s prompt from last week at earthweal of Soundscapes–I’m squeezing it in at the last minute for the weekend open link. I’ve also used some of this week’s random word generator oracle words, which you can find here.
All art is from the archives.