Thankful Sounds

Mornings used to be my favorite time of the day, especially before, during, and directly after sunrise. I’m always the first to rise. These days mornings are my worst times. But this morning as I futilely tried to force consciousness away, the raucous peeping in the pyracantha bush 10 feet from my open window became apparent. These are the indeterminate type of non-game birds we used to generically call “tweety birds.” For once, I noticed, and listened. A sonic stream of consciousness continued when a team of coyotes began yipping and howling down the street. In New Mexico I was told that when it sounds like ten coyotes, it’s probably only two or three. As the eerie sound died down, next came the familiar sound of my bay mule Cricket flapping her ears. Whether she does this just to stretch them or to dismount bothersome flies I don’t know. But you can hear it from 50 yards away; “floppa, floppa, floppa, floppa.” Four count, slow tempo. At that point as I lay there I realized that for whatever I’ve lost, I still have the sounds that most people seldom hear. I don’t have to imagine waking every morning to birds, coyotes, mules. The calm, quiet of the house lags the awakening world, and only a thin screen separates me from it. Thank you Lord. Now I remember when I heard the old Bob Marley song earlier this week. It lifted me momentarily from my surreal vocational endeavors. He knew what he was talking about with those Three Little Birds.