This morning I awoke from a beautiful dream. Just before consciousness I had been standing along a small stream where a female canvasback duck was floating towards me and staring at me in silent communion.
One of the signs of spring here at the house is the early morning chatter of birds. Winter is so quiet by comparison, although in the stillness of cold nights I can hear the chorus of owls more clearly.
Our dog compels me to go outside first thing each morning and suddenly what starts out as a chore becomes a gift as I listen to the quail and robins. On misty mornings the low rumble of turkey gobbles echo down from the neighboring fields.
The cacophony of sounds reminds me of waking up at my grandmother’s house in Palos Verdes and hearing the peacocks. My grandmother loved her peacocks. She named her favorite one Gorgeous George. I keep one of her ceramic peacocks on my nightstand. It was part of a matching set and I left the other one at my Aunt and Uncle’s house. They keep it in the guest room for me and I think of it as a open invitation to visit.
I cannot imagine a world without birds to keep us company. The void of silence would be too much for my heart to take. Who else would tell us that spring is here?
Ira
