Morning Sounds

Morning Sounds...

by Claywoman
Monday, June 10, 2002

I rose from my warm sleeping bag
Stumbling from my tent into the morning.
The winds' constant blow, stilled, the trees constantly moving,
stilled. I lit the stove for morning coffee and listened
for morning sounds.
I heard two owls talking,
each one bragging while asking
Questions of the night’s experiences.
How many mice? How many did you catch?

I heard the sounds of the surf as wave piled upon wave.
In my mind, I felt the earth move as each one hit.
Each wave moving a rock or a shell
Or burying some offal cast upon the beach.
The grief-stricken wail of the foghorn kept ships
from the shoals.

Small birds black as night trill joyously at the sun rising
Thankful for another day without the sharp talons
of the raptors, glide down to hunt for seeds for
their nestlings. They pecked through chaff to find the seed
that suits their fancy hopping lightly on the ground in pursuit
of the seed of another.

Soon the taloned ones overhead drive the seed-eaters
to the trees. Riding thermals they circled higher and higher
to find unwary prey Jay’s shouting out displeasure because
I gave no food waiting their turn to swoop and scoop up
some crumb from the table. Then the kettle whistled
and the stillness broken by reality
This was the day we were leaving.

Claywoman