The morning is lovely. It is 72° and sunny. A few oak leaves ruffle in the bit of a breeze. The dogs are out enjoying the day.

I slept well last night. My leg feels a bit better today. This is the start of week 4 so I am hopeful. I didn’t go out yesterday, but I did have the few groceries I needed delivered. My larder is filled.

Today I am going to water my house plants. That is the only item on my dance card. I do have uke events during the week and I hope to last for all of them.

I have favorite sounds. The rain is probably my favorite. I love it falling on the roof and windows. If I were building my house, I’d put on a metal roof so I’d be surrounded by the sound. The sweet ring of the chimes in my backyard makes the wind welcomed. The chimes hang low from a tree branch. I can see them from the house. In Ghana, I loved the morning crows of my rooster greeting the day. I’d listen then fall back to sleep. When I made my first trip back, a rooster crowed outside my hotel room window to welcome me back. It was like a trip back in time. During Peace Corps training, I stayed with a Ghanaian family. My room was in the back of the house facing a dirt street. A small mosque with green painted walls was on that street. I could hear the calls to prayer. The first call by the muezzin was before dawn. It reached me in that hazy place between awake and asleep. I would listen every morning then fall back to sleep. When I went to Morocco, I could hear the familiar calls from the top floor of my riad. Those calls were made through speakers, amplified for all to hear the prayers.

When I was in college and home for the weekend, my father always invited me on his Sunday dump run. If a friend came home with me, my friend was the invitee. My father loved the dump and loved to share those trips. Back then the dump was filled with huge, tall piles of trash. Gulls flew in circles round the trash piles, and the air was filled with their squawking caws. I always think of seagulls as home, as one of the cape’s loudest bird choristers. I love the late night. I love the sounds of night, of the birds and insects who share the wee hours with me, but I also love the first stirrings of the day, the time just before dawn when the birds sing a welcome to the awakening of the morning.

This entry was posted on September 15, 2025 at 1:15 pm and is filed under Musings. You can subscribe via RSS 2.0 feed to this post's comments. Both comments and pings are currently closed.