Even though the town I live in isn't large by most standards, living on the main street that runs from one end to the other does have its share of noise and traffic six days out of seven. Cars and trucks can be heard as early as 6 A.M., with school buses and city buses joining the symphony by 7. While it's certainly not Manhattan by any means, it can be annoying if you were planning to sleep in. Sunday, however, is a whole different story.
Since the sun has been rising earlier and earlier, I find myself waking up earlier as well. On a Sunday morning, it has a beauty all its own. There is almost no traffic except for an occasional car of folks on their way to the 6:30 mass at the Catholic church up the street, or running to the convenience store for milk and the morning paper. It is blissfully quiet of humans and their annoying interruptions. Instead, I am serenaded by birdsong, often lost in the day-to-day commotions during the week. I sit perfectly still except for my eyes which roam the treetops, hillsides, and sky watching for my feathered friends to come and help me greet the day. The air has a velvety softness to it and brushes my cheeks through the open windows, and the smell as the dew kisses the grass and trees is perfume to my senses. There is no better way to start the day than to experience it as all of my relations in nature do every day. We humans are just too distracted to realize that it is always there.
This past Sunday was especially poignant for me. On Saturday I tested positive for Covid. It is only a mild case, one that I had been misdiagnosing as acute allergies for over a week before the constant fatigue and the cough that wouldn't end suggested to me that maybe I had better check it out. Sitting there at my desk the next morning, with the windows thrown open wide, all of my senses, and my heart, went through a cascade of emotions. First, I was sad. Then I was mad ... and then I felt that first stir of the morning breeze on my cheek. Two blue jays came soaring overhead, playing chase and calling to each other. Two solitary geese flew silently overhead towards the river. The first golden rays came up over the rooftop to illuminate the hillside ahead. From the beginning of time, this is how life starts every day, for all my animal, plant, and human relations, and this is how it still begins even when we're sad, mad, or anything else. The sun always rises, the birds always sing the day awake, and the breezes blow the sleep from our eyes. Instead of being mad, I switched to gratitude, for being able to wake to another golden day, and for all the days ahead as long as I remember to rise, shine, and open the windows on the world.
And so it is.
