Chirping in the morning

I love the mornings.  I think it’s mostly because each morning is an established new.  The sun rising to new clouds, new sky that the darkness washed clean.  The sun re-experiencing a different part of the world, truly never getting a break, but allowing us to feel that way.  I love the sounds that accompany new mornings. The obnoxious ones and the beautiful ones. The roosters that seem to have an ill-understanding of dawn or the tenderness of human ears, the fragility of sleep.  The gentle chirping of the birds. The wind chimes. A morning rain. Dogs barking. Kiddos running off to school, mommies and daddies yelling back that they forgot their lunch. The sounds of life. A good life, a beautiful life, a hard life.  

The thing about living--living well--is, it sucks.  A lot of mornings suck. A lot of the sounds are annoying.  A lot of the yelling and the barking and the cockadoodle-dooing are so frantically obnoxious, a pillow is thrown over the head and a headache is an immediate feeling.  A tense body. I want a life without all of this all the time, these deep annoyances, this lack of sleep type exhaustion, the yucky deep belly mistakes and sliced pains; but a lovely life is an achy life.  An experienced life is a cracked life. It is a traveled life. An exposed life. One that isn’t just chirps and giggles. It isn’t a “forgotten lunch kind of day” life. A lovely life stings hearts but draws beauty out of eyes.  It is a life I would never give up. A life I would tear through vines to have, a life I’ve molded to.

So the sounds, the chirps and giggles, the cockadoole-doos, are lovely because they are simple creation.  Pure and fresh. A welcome to the day sound. A “wake up you are brave” sound. A choice of loveliness. A notice of achiness.  A belief in goodness.