I awaken to the sound of one lonely owl
hooting in the darkness
somewhere in the distance downriver.
He’s calling through the dense trees
to another across the Kennebec
who sits in the tallest tree on Spaulding Point.
As the dawn slowly illuminates the fog
creeping through the oak and spruce trees,
it drops shiny rhinestones of dew
on my window screens.
A smile of gratitude floats across my face
for the gifts of sight and of hearing.
Last night as I lay nestled in my bed
waiting for the chaotic flashes of the day
to quiet in my weary head I listened to
the crickets krek-ing, melding their song
with the treefrogs zenlike
Veee-zzz-eeee, veee-zzz-eeee, veee-zzz-eeee, zzz-eeee, zzz-eeee.
Incessant tones blend into one
harmonious chant long into the night.
The exciting sounds of the concert,
rivaled only by
the high pitched sound of energy
coursing through the high tension lines,
spanning the river from Farmingdale to Chelsea.
The light of dawn quiets the tree frogs all at once.
Some of the crickets have shut down
their weary krek-ing. The rooster
is crowing away in the yard next door.
His alarm awakens a cardinal
who calls a quick chirp, chirp, chirp-eeee.
A crystal-clear sweet song for his mate.
Ravens and crows arrive just then to
announce their loud and bossy
CAW-CAW-CAW-ing to the neighborhood.
Over the treetops the crimson sun bursts,
spreading its warm love over the audience,
washing away yesterday’s Off-Broadway play.
Act one of “today” begins.
Swan Island in the Kennebec -- 