I’ve woken in the forest and heard birds greeting the morning sun. I’ve woken in the unquiet solitude of a mountain’s waterfall, and seen the dawn stalk its way down the valley walls. I’ve also risen with the morning creeping over a lake and heard nature wake with the day.
The city is much like any of these places. The morning comes, and with it the intermittent peace of the night changes to the bluster of the day — trucks rumbling, construction vehicles lumbering to their work sites, a hundred furnaces springing to life in the buildings and houses as people wake to their tasks.
It’s been said that as a society and a culture, we in the west are plauged by noise pollution. This is true, but also is perhaps a statement indicating how we take things for granted. Waking this morning I found a certain peace in broaching the day out on the deck, drinking coffee and listening to people beginning their mornings. It was the same peace as when I woke to watch the sunrise over a meadow, and heard the birds call to each other that now it was time to make the day.
Good morning.
