Coffee on, I was reading near the open front window this morning at a little after four, when a robin started singing, either from the lush volunteer cedar near the walk, or from the roof, or from the tall juniper directly across from the window and behind the dahlias. I couldn’t quite tell, but its voice was so joyous and so loud, all I could do was stop and listen.
Joyous, loud, and something else — surprise, I’d say, at hearing itself:
Am I awake? I’m awake. Is it warm? Is it cold? Am I young? Am I old? Where are you, my love?
Tags: A Listening Thing