I couldn’t sleep last night, so I just said to heck with it and stayed up all night. Once it got light, I started to think about taking a walk. Around 7:15, I finally decided to stop thinking and just do it. Thanks, Nike slogan-writers, great idea! It was, shall we say, a tad brisk. The thermometer was hovering just under 40 and after a few blocks my hands were feeling it. However, the rest of me was fine, so I pressed on, reminding myself that come July having cold hands will be a fond, distant memory.
I am not a morning person. Never have been, except of necessity, and even then I am always able to go right back to sleeping in as soon as the opportunity presents itself.
But there I was, up with the birds, literally. I was walking around the neighborhood, and a flock of 30 or so rose from a tree and started circling around, doing their bird dance. I have seen this sort of thing before, but I had never heard it. I live in a city, but at that time of morning it’s rather quiet, all things considered. I could hear traffic in the distance, and somewhere fairly close the recycling truck was making its rounds, but I actually HEARD the birds. They didn’t make the flapping sound I was expecting. It was more of a gentle soughing. They circled several times, then headed off into the sun. It was quite special.
Perhaps not special enough to get me up every morning if I don’t have to be awake, but special enough to make me realize that I probably miss a lot each morning I choose to sleep in.