Listening with Michael

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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

There is a gazebo at the end of the garden. It overlooks the estuary. When the tide is in, sea water pools around seaweed covered rocks. The sound is peaceful, meditative. I drink an early morning coffee, listen to the birds singing morning songs, watch a spider spin his fragile life between timber beams above my head. Even in the harshest of winters, the rise and fall of tides, sun-light on water, movement of sky, cloud, moon and stars, allows an awareness of nature behind the mask of perceived reality. I offer my words and pictures in celebration and gratitude to God, for allowing me a glimpse behind the mask. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Bio: Teri Flynn was born in Wales of Welsh and Irish Parents. Educated in England, she moved to Co.Waterford, Ireland in 1997 where her Poetry has since appeared in “The Turning Tide” – an anthology of new writing from Co.Waterford. “Southward” The Journal of the Munster Literature Centre and “Imagine” The Tallow Writers Group quarterly review. Her poetry appears in “Sticky Orchard”, a group effort with Alan Garvey, Jim O’Donnell and Anthony O’Neill and grant assisted by Waterford County Council’s Arts Grant Scheme. “Listening To The Grass Grow” with Jim O’Donnell and Anthony O’Neill was published by Edward Power at Rectory press and most recently, in ‘Murmurings’, Remembering Anthony O’Neil, with Jim O’Donnell and Alan Garvey. Her poem Queen Of The Sea was included in the Chesapeake Exhibition at RUH, Bath, 2011. Figurehead Carver, Andy Peters. Photographic display of Ship’s Figurehead Carvings by Richard Sibley – http://www.tallshipsgallery.com A themed display of her oil paintings and poems entitled Cynefin, were on display in Waterford during The Imagine Festival in 2017. Cynefin-pronounced kuh-nev-in is a Welsh word meaning habitat or place. A place where a being feels it ought to live, where nature around you feels right and welcoming.
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2 Responses to Listening with Michael

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

    Like

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