Mornings Slumber Passed
Mornings Slumber Passed
By Tony DeLorger © 2011
Light dances on ponds calmed by night; awaken to the warmth of day, sun creeping into endless sky imbuing it with colours magnificent. Ripples expand outwardly into shorelines, radiating from the puckered mouths of fish searching. Feathered creatures large and small greet the day with song, their trill sounds like pinpricks in the stark open landscape.
Tiny birds dart over water’s edge, chasing breakfast insects, the humming of their wings like the subtle sound of earth spinning. Rustling grasses and burrows deep alive with movement drag slumbered creatures from rest. What moments earlier was lost, is now a flurry of beating life, the scratching, padding and flutter of hearts infused with purpose, enacting the paths of their creature kind.
High up over a rocky ridge a lone hawk resounds, the echoes like waves rolling across the sky. Furred ears stand erect, eyes seeking the source, then once satisfied of safety, resume their foraging. Life is abundant and engaged; a hive of activity that defines our world, the vitality of life expressed from simply being.
As the sun pushes itself up into the vivid blue sky, the light changes, shadows lessen and the tasks of day are undertaken with verve. On the fringes of the natural world the sounds of machines and human traffic conglomerate into a white noise, scratchy and monotonous. The sounds of car horns and brash voices, squealing rubber and clicking crossing lights resound in the concrete and metal forest. Glass spires like tall redwoods loom overhead, casting deep shadows over the streets below. People stream like ants between the spires, tending their lives and maintaining the colony.
On ledges high birds perch, without branches they adapt to the lifeless forest, foraging where and whenever they can. They speak to one another, complain and quarrel, wings flapping; feathers dislodged falling silently to the cold hard streets. Sewer rats patrol the underworld in the shadows of human refuse, seeking sustenance in the filth and grime, while humans, oblivious, tread their course above.
Small patches of nature hold a modicum of life, segregated and marooned on an island within the cement forest. Squirrels and birds vying for the scraps of human pleasure wait in anticipation, until the midday gathering. Then, the pickings are abundant, if only temporarily. Until then they pretend the forest is real and endless, plentiful in the memory of life past. Their voices are short and demanding with competition rife and success a necessity. They feed furiously, filling themselves to survive until the next opportunity arises.
On the city fringe creatures watch the human world with fear in their hearts, glad to be far away from the turmoil. They feel the sun on their faces and give thanks for their abundant lives. All is in balance and how it should be in the garden of nature, each day a blessing, even the struggle of survival accepted as an opportunity.
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