There is a certain beauty to the quiet of mornings, to the easy silence when the world slows down a little and, if you listen, you can hear the birds as they carry on their conversations and their debates.
This morning was such a morning, warm with the promise of springtime, and quiet in the tranquil murmur of the mid-morning hour when the rushing to work has ended and the rushing back home is a long way away.
In that quietest of quietudes, with only the birds calling to each other - the scolding kay-kay of the blue jays, the sweet coo-coo of the mourning doves, and the insistent chirp-chirp of the feisty sparrows - I felt whole, sharing with the dogs that most simple of pleasures, that most complicated of privileges: walking leisurely through our stilled and quieted neighborhood as the sun climbed lazily away from morning toward the busy zenith of noon.
This morning was such a morning, warm with the promise of springtime, and quiet in the tranquil murmur of the mid-morning hour when the rushing to work has ended and the rushing back home is a long way away.
In that quietest of quietudes, with only the birds calling to each other - the scolding kay-kay of the blue jays, the sweet coo-coo of the mourning doves, and the insistent chirp-chirp of the feisty sparrows - I felt whole, sharing with the dogs that most simple of pleasures, that most complicated of privileges: walking leisurely through our stilled and quieted neighborhood as the sun climbed lazily away from morning toward the busy zenith of noon.
1 comment:
Que bella.
(My verification word: bravh!)
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