Posted tagged ‘birds singing’

“If one mouse is a spark…then ten thousand are a conflagration.”

May 19, 2017

I should be outside singing Oh What a Beautiful Morning. I see the scene somewhat like the opening of The Sound of Music: me singing about the morning as I walk and twirl down the street.

The sun is bright, almost shiny. The sky is breathtakingly blue. There is a strong breeze keeping the morning cool and the heat at bay. The high today will be 78˚, quite warm for May on Cape Cod. The low will be a seasonal 52˚.

When I brought Gracie to the yard, it was 7:15, and the morning was alive with sound. The birds were singing all around me. I heard the lawn mower cutting grass in the backyard next door. The air was sweet with the aroma of that cut grass. The dog across the street was barking. Gracie stopped to listen then continued to the backyard. I could hear her walking on the top layer of dead leaves. She finished then ran to the steps and up onto the deck. She used the dog door to come into the house then waited for her treat. She has new biscuits: a combo of peanut butter and carob. She loves her biscuits.

My house got cleaned yesterday, and my furnace and air conditioning unit were also cleaned. The guy who cleaned my furnace said there was a lot of mice poop. That’s it, the end! I’ve had enough of those wee varmints so I called an exterminator who will come next week. Of all things, the events in Watership Down did pop into my head.

I have an empty dance card for the next few days though I do have one errand today. It will be a quick out and back. I’m in the mood for a lazy day. I think it’s the sun’s fault.

“It is a happy talent to know how to play.”

April 28, 2016

Though it is still chilly, I think spring has started to take hold. When I went to get the papers, I stayed outside a while to listen to the birds. Their songs filled the air from everywhere.

Gracie has been outside most of the morning. She lies in the sun on the deck until her fur is hot to the touch, and she has started panting from the heat. She comes inside, waits for a small treat then goes into her crate for a bit of a nap. She and I are going to the dump later.

Yesterday was a busy day for me mostly picking up Coke cans. I was in the cellar looking for a wooden box when I knocked the bags of cans over. The open bag fell and cans went everywhere. I picked them up and put them back into the bag only to have them fall one more time. I didn’t complain because in picking up the cans I found an old wooden box once used for storing cranberries. It was exactly what I was looking for. It is now in the kitchen and already filled.

My daytimes are people-less and quiet. Dogs, including Gracie, bark and they and the birds make the only sounds. I do hear cars going down the other street but not so many during working hours. Winter is the quietest season but this, now, the in-between season, is almost as quiet, but all that will change too enough. In summer the noise will seem endless, but now it is only in the afternoons when the kids get home from school. On good days like today, they play in the street, and they are not quiet. They don’t speak in normal tones. Everything has to be yelled from one kid to another. I don’t know if yesterday was bike or scooter day. I just know it was loud.

When I was growing up, my neighborhood was filled with kids. The younger ones stayed around the backyards under the watchful eyes of mothers looking out kitchen windows. We older kids roamed sometimes on our bikes and sometimes on foot. We made forts in the woods and sustained ourselves with blueberries picked from the bushes on the sunny side of the path in those woods.

The path was brown grass in-between two parts of the woods. At one end of the path was the water tower. The other end was the field below my house. That’s where we used to catch grasshoppers and fireflies and where we’d play tag or red rover. I can still see in my mind’s eye the grasshoppers jumping up in front of us as we ran through the field. I remember the sounds they made.

I think I grew up in the best of all places at the best of all times.

“It never gets easier, missing you. And sometimes I wonder if it ever will.”

July 28, 2013

Last night it rained, not a lot as under the umbrellas is dry. I sat outside to read my first paper. Pandora was set to 60’s rock, the coffee was perfect and the newspaper wasn’t filled with dire events. I call that a great morning.

In the musical Camelot, King Arthur describes Camelot and says, “The rain may never fall till after sundown.” I always thought that a good idea.

I still have bits of the old Sunday in my head. It was a day to recharge for the week. We went to church, came home, got changed, and hung around until after Sunday dinner. Even then we didn’t go far. Sunday seemed to bring a quiet as if it were built in to the day. Even my neighborhood with a million kids was quiet. That’s a piece that hasn’t disappeared. I don’t hear anyone. I hear a bird or two but no people’s’ voices. Not a car has gone up my street. I know if I leave my neighborhood the stores will be open, and cars will have filled parking lots and lines of cars will sit barely moving on the roads, but for now, I’ll stay here and let it be my Sunday.

Each generation gives something to the next. Most times they probably don’t realize it. From my mother we have these wonderful sayings, and we use them all the time with each other. “It’s too cold to snow,” my mother always said. Mostly she was wrong. When it rained, it was a deluge, and my sister told me that the other day. Snow in spring is poor man’s fertilizer, and my father always noted it and so do I. My parents gave us big things, but we use the small ones the most, the every day observations of life. My mother learned them from her mother and passed them along to us without knowing we’d hold on to them so closely. They are precious and very time we use one, we bring my mother or father back with us for a little while.

No one ever told us how difficult it is and how long that feeling lasts when you lose your parents. I suppose we wouldn’t have believed them if they had.

“Without music, life would be a mistake.”

April 23, 2013

I don’t remember writing Coffee this late on an ordinary day. Blame a restless night. I went upstairs about 12:30 followed by the parade of animals. We settled in, and I started reading. At the end of each chapter, I’d check the next one and see how many pages it had and tell myself that the next one would be the last. This went on until 3, chapter by chapter, as I just wasn’t tired. Thinking I could drift off, I finally turned off the light but just couldn’t fall asleep. Gracie was snoring at the foot of the bed and Fern was nestled beside me. I couldn’t get comfortable. I moved so much Gracie got up and settled to get out of my way. I didn’t check the time, but I was still awake when the birds began to sing, and when the first light of morning appeared in my window. I don’t know when I fell asleep, but I know I woke up at 10, still tired. Right now I’m the only one awake. Gracie is in her usually spot on the couch, Maddie is beside purring like crazy and Fern is behind me on the cushion curled in a ball and in a deep sleep. I envy them.

Today is dark and rainy. I love my house the most on days like today. It always feels warm and cozy like a hug. I light the candles and the strands of lights in the living room. They cast a gentle glow through the dark of the day. I can barely hear the rain. The birds are in and out of the big feeders; the smaller feeders need to be filled as does the thistle feeder. Maybe later when the rain stops.

When I was in Ghana, I missed so many events, didn’t even hear of them until long after they’d occurred. The moon landing we knew about so we sat around the radio and listened to the description of what everyone at home could see on their televisions. I didn’t know about Woodstock until I after I had gotten home, two years later. It was the music I heard first then I went to the school library and looked up magazines about Woodstock and devoured every article. I bought the album and listened to it  several times. Richie Havens’ music was jaw dropping. When the film appeared, I finally got to see what I had missed, and he was riveting. Yesterday I was saddened to read of his death and felt the huge loss. Anyone who loves music has to feel the same way.

The reason I’m not posting his music today is because once when I posted it on Blogger, the song was removed, and I got a message from Blogger, a reprimand, that I had violated copyright laws. Later when I had three strikes, three violations, Blogger erased Coffee. I don’t want to take the same chance again.

Here is Richie Havens at Woodstock:

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