Thursday morning I took the time to indulge one of my favorite summer occupations. I woke up to the birds and the sunrise. By the time I had coffee in hand there was enough light to wander out on the deck with coffee and a book of poetry. The kiwi was blooming and so there was the light scent of citrus, a slight breeze occasionally got the wind chimes going (D sharp minor), and the birds continually trilling back and forth sharing news, getting updates, discussing the prospects of the day. The coffee was good, the dog slept on my feet, keeping them warm, and the poetry was fine. I read Herman de Coninck’s “The Plural of Happiness” translated by Laure-Anne Bosselaar and Kurt Brown. Short poems, mostly love poems, few schmaltzy or sticky sweeet. Too often I marked a poem with a “I’ll have to come back to that one” to savor the image, examine the phrasing, or simply appreciate the mastery.
Meanwhile the birds kept up their commentary; the hummingbird berated my lack of foresight in filling the feeder, and a cat bird meowed from the step. A chipmunk ran along the retaining wall. The mourning doves started their cooing. Finally the world woke up enough to send slight dust clouds up from goat back road when the milk truck went by.
Listening to the world wake up has got to be the most pleasant way to start a day. I think I will do it again tomorrow.