rejectomorph (flying_blind) wrote,
rejectomorph
flying_blind

Treading Dawn

The sound of a lawn sprinkler and the hint of mist it leaves on the cool morning air has me wishing for one of those fresh spring rains -- the kind that break up while the sun is in the west, so that its light sparkles on the wet world and big, white clouds sail the afternoon sky. Late March can usually be expected to provide a few of them, sometimes with thunder and lightning, but none are in sight this year. At least there have been some nice cirrus clouds, and more are expected later in the week. I see a few now, gray and shading toward lavender where the eastern sky pales with dawn's approach. If I lived near the ocean, these would be good days for watching the white sails of boats catching the wind, being drawn over the swells of glistening sea toward the horizon of the world.

A flock of migrating waterfowl just passed, vibrating the morning air with their calls. They were flying low, and far enough west to be concealed by the trees. All I saw were the crows they stirred into flight, who cawed loudly at the strangers. I'm not sure what species they were, or if they had wintered in California's wetlands or somewhere farther south. Many pass by in their journey this time of year, and I sometimes wonder if I am hearing calls that recently rang over Mexican lakes or Central American swamps, or even the Andean highlands. It is likely that some of these birds have visited distant lands that I have never seen. They make me feel like a dull crow, though I have no desire to scold the travelers on their way. It is only that I, rooted in this place, feel a twinge of envy for their adventure, as I do for the bright day before those on board the boats which I know must even now be leaving harbors, venturing seaward with morning breezes, letting the stolid coast recede, seeking a perfect circled horizon.
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