Come morning, a blackbird knocks at the window to the right of my alarm clock. The two machines share more than a propensity to track time. They understand needs, including mine. Both sing tunes of pleasing notes. Bonjour. Shalom. Adios. I stir. I turn. I yawn. A red robin joins the chorus. Suddenly, it’s dawn. My voice of limited range. My body is increasingly resistant to change. My limbs are less amenable with each passing day. My waist is no longer willing or able to wait for corseted reframes. I reframe daily questions (marked and monitored) as well as expectations (rarely exceeded) – never my recollections. Memories remain stacked and stocked in books (paperbacks) on my nightstand. From birds to bees. Words to trees. Photographs and autographs. Crayola markers and cellphone stalkers. Marked of exclamation. My fingers brush as adrenaline rushes. I crave sleep, connection, and moments of reflection. Like birds. Sweet.
When the blackbirds in the evergreens sing, I supply (perhaps apply) words. Words that mean many things. Amani. Toplina. Sweet. It’s my secret. Mine alone. Wrapped in twine. Knotted of rose vines. Eventually, I wake and then walk in a singular fashion and form. All limbs are subject to breach. I reach the porcelain sink and then blink. I seek the birds’ company as they seek any number of things. Twigs. Twine. Bread. Vines. Sight. Seeds. Time. All living creatures share these similarities. In unalphabetized form. Questions simmer alongside sentences. Good morning, he says scanning for signs in my mirrored reflection. My knuckle cracks. My fingers ache. I tie my laces. I stretch. I wake. A baby wren’s wings flap. Eggs fried. New vibes. Oh! I think. An exclamation. I crave life. Time to read. Time to tread. Time to walk where the birds once wed. It’s human nature I think to find solace in evergreens. As the blackbirds sing.
I listen, then reflect on a few of my favorite things.
- A favorite song. First two words.
- A favorite flower. Its scent.
- A favorite season. A signature bird.
- A favorite fabric. Its weight. One word.
- Something worth waiting for. Noun.
- Something worth doing. Verb.
- Something worth being. Adjective.
The alarm rings. __1__ on the radio. A blackbird sings at the window. I inhale. Exhale. Breathe. __2__ scented mornings. A __3__ flaps its wings. Surround sound. Feathers and stuff. Molasses and fluff. Dreams unravel. Limbs tangle. I’m wrapped in __4__. I wait. I anticipate. __5__. I prepare. To __6___. I am __7__. Bathed in raspberry-scented wishes and red robin-infused whistles. Ready. Set. Be. As the blackbirds sing.