The music of birds I can't identify chirp the Berclair morning through the heavy haze cloaking the trees and into orange light. What had been night’s near-silence crescendos in a seeming instant to morning’s lively chatter. Whistles from branches, dew drips from the eaves, ratcheting from insects hidden in the field, and off in the distance a passing car. It is a wondrously busy transition this creep from night to day. I am seemingly the only life quiescent, the slight rocking of my front porch chair channeling the lulling breeze.
We will have our own activity in the course of the day -- a water pump to assess and its timer to verify, a nascent crop to appreciate and coax, a new fence to confirm. But the real work of the day -- the more pressing business for which we traveled to this family farm almost a country and a lifetime away -- is to ebb, for awhile, the relentless waves, settle into deeper grooves, listen again to long-dead voices, and to stand submissively aside while nature and our souls do the talking.
The dawn’s orange has dissolved into morning’s white; the sun is on the verge of cresting the trees. With a good part of my day well underway, it’s time for a second cup of coffee. And maybe a pancake or two.
Saturday, March 16, 2013
Berclair Morning
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
1 comment:
To my astonishment, I recently confronted for the very first time (via John Philip Newell) this question posed by the first Genesis creation story: When God created Light on the very first day, days before creating sun, moon, stars, what was that Light?
Newell speaks of "the Light that is not the sun" at the very heart of creation. When you write of the sound that precedes the dawn’s orange that dissolves into morning’s white and the sun on the verge, you say that a good part (by which I think you mean a significant portion) of you day is well underway. Might it have gotten underway before the sunrise began, in the Light that is not the light? And if so, what was that Light?
Post a Comment