Listening with Michael

IMG_1424

Kookaburra’s start the morning chorus, accompanied by the dove, bringing echoes of another age when the world was still young. The song is haunting. Michael says birdsong heals the world. He believes that birds sing every morning to redress the balance inflicted on nature by the wrong-doing of mankind.  It’s a comforting thought. I believe he is right.

It’s still raining. Rain-forest trees drip onto broad leaves of banana plants, into muddied earth, to find again the narrow river that will carry the song in it’s gurgling. Above my bed, a huge fly slaps frantically against the ceiling, finally settling into the corner just above my head. Watching the now motionless intruder, I’m convinced it’s up to no good, planning a dive-bomb attack the moment I look away.

From the other room, a suffocating smokers cough. A spoon rattles in a glass, the medicinal drink is mixed, swallowed with a mixture of hope & distrust. He lights a cigarette and heads outside to taste the morning. The smell of tobacco seeps into my room, but I wait for a few considered moments before slipping on my dressing gown and slippers to join him on the wooden deck.

He is comfortably seated on the cushioned bench, smiling with the same happiness that I feel. I kiss his cheek,  and together we listen to the rising echo of the waking rain-forest. The ethereal blossom of the Chinese silk tree, pretty in pink, catches me in surprised awareness. I’m not sure who is looking at who. Michael says nature is curious, watching and listening, just like us. He isn’t frightened of dying, he has a profound sense of excitement at realising the next step in the great adventure of his life. The basic survival instinct is manifested in his anger at corrupt governments, at wrong management of natural resources, and sadness, that so many people are blind or indifferent to the escalating deterioration of our planet, but his anger doesn’t last long, and there is no time for sadness.

Frogs call to each other. Birdsong reaches a crescendo. The narrow river below rushes past with purpose. Immersed in the oneness of all things, enraptured, we listen.

About maskednative

I live in Ireland, in an extended cottage overlooking Waterford Estuary, privvy to constant changes of light on water, colour and movement, tides and people. I am anglo-Irish and although my initial intention was to live here for a year and a day, I am still here, a blow-in to these shores for the past fifteen years. There have been countless times when I wanted to run back to England with homesickness and relief, but for one reason or another, so far, it has not been possible. I surrender, the soul of Ireland has captured me, allowed a glimpse of the world behind the mask of everyday experiences, bringing forth a mixture of words and pictures from an ordinary everyday life, filled with ordinary everydayness that I offer as a celebration, to the creator of this truly wonderful planet.
This entry was posted in Life, Love and the Universe and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to Listening with Michael

  1. nice drawing and i like the way you write. thanks for the visit by the way.

    Like

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s