Eagle Drifting, Heron Hushed

Spring. Inescapably, I hear it through my bedroom window. A cardinals’ song wakes me every morning at 4:30. This is the day I got up at 5:45 (my artist self does not do this unless I am on the way to an airport for those ungodly early departures) and stepped out onto my wet back deck to fully listen to spring. I hear a new composition forming. The multitude of bird calls, quiet chirps, a cackle here and there, songs saying good morning to a mate accompany lyrical opening notes floating in my head. I am on that great northern rock, eagle drifting, morning mist not yet risen, heron still hushed. I realize I have painted this memory. For a moment, all becomes one, a see-through glass thread, connecting all I have experienced. Not trying to understand it but simply be the light of this moment. I will remember April 25, 2016.

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