Where is the Wake-up Chorus?

Posted by karynhenleyauthor

Dawn quietly drifts
into my world this morning.
Too quietly.
I wonder where the usual wake-up chorus is,
the sweet greeting of birdsong.
I make my way outdoors,
but I see no birds.
None at the feeder,
none on the porch rail,
none at the birdbath.
A solo twitter sounds high in an elm.
A sharp chip-chip-chip comes
from a hedge.
A distant crow caws, and then
nothing.
Nothing at all.
I peer up into the morning-blue sky
with its drift of summer clouds.
I’m watching for a hawk.
I don’t see one, but
the songbirds know better than I,
and they seem to have made
a strategic, silent retreat.
I know people who have taken
a silent retreat,
a week or so away from home,
not speaking,
not being spoken to,
resting in silence,
trusting its soft strength,
listening
for the secrets it whispers to the soul.
I’ve never gone on a silent retreat,
although I do welcome silence.
Even so, as I stand here
watching a tiny twig
twirl like a weather vane
as it dangles from a spider web,
I miss the background music
of morning birdsong.
I look upward once again.
The clouds have shifted,
a breeze brushes the treetops.
Through the open spaces
where I can see sky
between branches and thick leaves,
I glimpse a glide of dark wings,
a hawk looking for breakfast.
I close my eyes
and inhale the serenity of the moment.
I will keep quiet with the songbirds.
I will wish them a safe, peaceful
silent retreat.
-kh-

Nurture peace, cultivate kindness, and carry the calm.

Nature of the week:

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The Hawk

Posted by karynhenleyauthor

Yesterday, a red-tailed hawk at least eight inches tall perched on the top rail of the fence near our sun room windows. His eight inches did not include his dark tail edged at the tip in white, which extended down over the fence rail for balance. This hawk had a mottled breast of rust and white feathers, a dark head, and bright yellow feet. The bird book I grabbed showed that he was an immature red tail. I was surprised that he stayed so long, at least five minutes, maybe more. So I stayed too, just out of sight, watching him.

All was quiet. The bird feeder was nearby, but my wise little birds were in hiding. A squirrel on top of the swing set was frozen in a crouch, focused on the hawk, who ruffled his dark shoulders and scratched himself. After a long look around, he shot up at a steep angle northward. Shortly after that, the squirrel scampered away, and birds returned to the feeder.

The thing about quiet is that it’s not necessarily peaceful. The quiet that descended with the hawk was actually full of tension. It was only after he flew that real peace returned. Peace was full of birdsong.

Nurture peace, cultivate kindness, and carry the calm.

Nature of the week: