A calm breeze caresses the fronds of a palm tree as if to awaken this lazy plant for the big moment. The wind picks up, and now scores of trees are dancing about with excitement. The only ones left out are the fruit trees who show no sign of life, with their naked bodies dead to the world in a winter-induced catatonic state. Is there such a smell as ‘nothing?’ Because I smell it. No smoke, no exhaust, no floral fragrance. I can’t smell anything, but I certainly smell ‘nothing.’
The silence is broken by a lone bird who awakens as the deep blue slowly recedes to the far west. She proceeds to rouse her friends from their slumber, and this morning’s heralds announce in song the good news of the dawning of a beautiful new day. A mockingbird can’t help but incessantly chatter. I imagine he is telling the others all about last night’s myriad dreams. The birds all laugh in response.
Now it is Periwinkle’s turn to show off—this is her five minutes of fame; but the warm, fiery colors will soon force her off the scene. My time is up, and I must join in the task of creating oceanic sounds for others who are quietly witnessing the dawn in their backyards. As I walk to my car, I see a thin, malnourished cloud above me, who only a moment ago was a dull gray, but now seems to have caught on fire. Pink! Orange! Red! These overused words are an insult to the radiant colors dancing off of the cloud.
I’ll have to welcome the sun from behind my windshield, and it will be more glorious than my eyes can bear. I will have to veil them with sunglasses just so I don’t go blind. But the glory will shine through; I know because it does every day. read more