Good morning creatures. Very soon, despite the static sound of tires on asphalt, a subtle symphony will creep in on the morning rays of the rising sun. The gentle conductor, the fiery sun, will cause the birds to wake up. Their songs creep in species by species, until for a fleeting moment, anyone lucky enough to not be stuck in their car or tucked in their beds can hear. This is a mourning story of the birds. I am waiting now for them behind the swollen lights, the wail of the police siren, the groan of some loud generator, that tune that is not found in the mighty wind, the humble sound of the birds waking up. a lark needs only a few small scraps of bread and a sip of water, and they can soar into the heavens Hear they go Like the beginning of the Mozart requiem, the contrast of noise with the first few chirps combined with the hummmm of a telephone pole is generating this righteous fearlessness of death; This approach of the coming storm. I to often do not take the time to listen to the birds. I have often laughed like an urban mocking bird imitating an 18 wheeler backing up, I do so miss this symphony in the dawn. A lady I know who comes to the zoo to have florid intense dialogues with the exotic captive birds, her name is dawn. Just so happens... I have often thought the tongue of the natives on the Canary Islands must be neat, because it is a language of whistles. What must it sound like the birds are saying. And now, the light is here and the clouds are rolling by. I only need a few small scraps and a sip of water to soar into the heavens, To reflect that song and to sing that light is all I need. We are searching for something, behind the wall of buildings, could it be the horizon? Could it be our ancient circadian rhythm seeks to be conducted by the rising sun, that is now absent. The birds are in full force now with percussive clicks and tweets, coming in surround sound from a few oak trees stuck beside the street, Ah, and a moments rest and then the chorus comes in, right here and across the street, and in every corner of this machine city. Even the grackles roosting on electric wires let of a crack and a hiss, as if the cable were a giant guitar string and they were living notes coming off of it. The timeless classic of sunrise and bird songs: Available to you FREE every morning, To get the full version, Throw your jewels into the river and toss your scepter into the mud, then you would see the glisten of some new pebbles. And now I speak loud as an old ghost in my head what good are your riches if they bring you no joy, and all your people starve, Where your treasure is there will your heart be They dont sell sunrise on Black Friday
Posted on: Sun, 01 Dec 2013 13:12:57 +0000
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