Music of the Morning


My head, buried in the pillow

Has one ear turned upwards

Towards the window…


It’s way too early…

My eyes are tired and heavy,

And are shut tightly against

The early rays streaming

Through the window;

Crashing against my slumber

That is guarded by the softness of my pillow,

And my will to sleep “just a little bit more.”


I swear my pillow-top mattress is talking to me!

Pulling me softly, gently back to sleep…

But there’s something in my way;

Something familiar, gentle and very old.

Something so gentle, so familiar and so old

That I ignored it.

But it will not be ignored.

Will not be denied;

Until I hear it, absorb it

Take it in and honor it

For what it is….


It’s the music of the morning.

And slowly, reluctantly, I hear it.

It’s in the tree just outside my window;

And it’s answered in every corner of my hearing.

The birds are singing!

Urged on by the same sun that I was fighting.

While my pillowtop was urging me to sleep,

The sun was urging them to serenade me

And all else who would STOP to listen

And appreciate their beauty.


A chirp, a warble, a call.

And then three others. Then five others.

Then a dozen. Then twenty.

Chirps in response to chirps.

Warbles in response to warbles.

Call echoes call,

And all combinations in between.

A full-throated melody…

Crescendos of sharpness

Carried by soft undertones.

All intertwined into symphony.

And at the greatest level of my consciousness,

The song is just for me.

Who knew a chirp and a warble

Could do all that?


And, incredibly, if the one you love

Is lying with you, and opens up

And is willing to LISTEN,

They’ll sing for your loved one too.

My God, how beautiful!

No matter what troubles you

Have in this world…

No matter where life takes you;

No matter what corner of the globe

You lay your head in,

If you just STOP, and LISTEN…

You will be serenaded by God’s sweet music;

The music of the morning;

And the only things that change

Are the calls of the song.


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