When you do, you’ll realize there’s a cacophony of noise pollution these days. Listen to their inflections and intonations. Listen to the noises they make and their degree. If you ever want to know what type of person you are dealing with, listen to them…and I’m NOT talking about their choice of words even though that says much right there. “Seems people are constantly making noise of some sort.” Held halfway between a death and a life, I’d already learned the news of the day.
I thought for a moment about turning on the news to see what had transpired in the rest of the world while I slept. There are many ways of this world and that one is not the least of them. Take your eyes away and then look again and it’s gone.īut the day goes on and the light rises around you and you know, with an abiding faith, that beauty will astonish you again when you least expect or deserve it that it will come to you out of the dark on a rush of wings. Unexpected beauty rising in the center of all you can see. When I came out to look again, the moon was gone. I watched it slide down the sky for some time, then I went back into the kitchen for coffee. Hanging just above the line of rose was the full moon gleaming gold in the exact center of all that I could see. The sea seemed ruffled in large smooth circles, slate in the fading shadow of the hills but, as it rolled out towards the horizon, shading up into a charcoaled blue, then to a gray-blue haze at the horizon rising up into rose that gave off abruptly into clear and fresh blue. As it whirred and chuffled away, I walked out onto my deck that looks out over the brindle hills and down to the Pacific a mile or so away. I took the pot and filled it with water, put in the beans, and started the device.
It was just after first light, 5:45 by the red numerals on the coffee pot in the kitchen. In the half-life between dream and waking it seemed I was back in a bedchamber in that small town north of Paris where two doves had nested in the tree just beyond our balcony where my beautiful daughter was conceived in that past, gone year. This morning it was the rush of wings and mutterings from the two doves that seem to have taken up residence in the foliage outside my bedroom window. It is so silent here that the softest of noises can wake me.
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