It is 5:30 am, cool morning air streams through an open window, bathing my bed with a sweet Sunday morning. I hear the faintest purr of a freeway just miles away, it’s an artery to the heart of our sleepy city as it begins to wake.
I stir in my bed trying not to wake my wife as she breathes in soft whispers, they seem to match my own. The sun has not risen, yet there is enough light, as I recognize objects throughout my room. I wait for familiar sounds from outdoors, no birds are singing, it seems too early for them. The mocking-bird is my favorite on any given day, it sings like all birds in a similar way.
From the shadows outside I hear a loud screech, and another one follows. Like a mother who knows the sound of her child, she is stirred inside, her loving heart opens wide. The screech sounds again, calling my mind to wake, “take notice, I’m here on soft velvet wing.”
The sound, it sweeps me to youth, to where Great White Oaks are a home to Great Horned Owls. My heart leaps with excitement to hear such a sound, outside a residential window, and freeway not far! The Great Horned Owl fly’s softly in whispery stealth, like a paper plane on journey, from little boy’s hand.
The owl has moved on, leaving my mind in a whirl. Images and words begin to flow, like warm steamy water, rising deep from an Artesian Well.
I must rise and write!