Communing With Morning

A Poem by Denise Tallman

A gentle elegant rain shower during a terrible stressful Pandemic.

Moody dark skies. Safe quiet time. A time to really pay attention to life.

The tiny brown birds at the bird feeder, unaware of the world crisis,

Are disgusted with the sunflower seeds they have found in the feeder. 

Forcing an extra step of having to break open the shell.  You can hear how pissed off they are with their high-pitched yelling and banging on the fence post.

The heater kicks on with that subliminal heavy “ahhh” white noise.

The flickering of my witchy candle from New York that I light whenever I do my morning pages, makes a slight “sssssss” that I almost miss.

And what is that small cacophony?  A light flipping of a piece of paper I have tacked to the wall about how to create abundance. A little gnat of a sound advising me to reread it.

What else do I hear.  The kitchen window is open so I can hear the slicing and swooshing of the truck tires disrupting the collection of rain puddled on the road.

And of course, my music.  My playlist of carnal tunes.  Right now, it’s La Vida by Coldplay.  Before that Santana Black Magic Woman.  

Uh oh.  

The stairs are being terrorized by heavy weight.  

My husband is up from bed finally.  

Now the noises all congeal, and I cannot find each one like I could when I was alone and quiet.  Now the daily sounds become a concerto of pugs clacking at their doggie door, my husband sighing deeply from a good night’s sleep and cooking food and whirling kitchen equipment.