Thursday
Mar052020
It's Five 'o' Clock in the Morning and I Feel Fine
A feisty, assholish rooster crows me awake before 5am every morning, weekends included. His name is Elijah but was Eliza first, before we realized she was a he. When she who was actually he was a palm-sized fluffball scrabbling around a cardboard box atop my lap.
If it sounds annoying to be crowed awake by a rooster it is, surprisingly, not. It should be, seems like, but he's a natural alarm that my brain hits snooze on until my iphone alarm offers competition at 5:30. Elijah eases me into the day first by crowing and ultimately by forcing me into the black, rubber muck boots I wear to clomp outside and tend to the animals.
First, I open the chicken coop nestled against the east side of our house to protect it from weather that roars in from the west. Elijah is just feet from our heads when he crows his good mornings, although, knowing Elijah it's probably more like WAKE-THE-FUCK-UP-ASSHOLE than a cheerful good morning. The headboard of our bed is positioned against the same wall that backs their coop on the other side. We don't mind. Faint scritch-scratch cluck-clucks as they settle in for the night are quite comforting and, as mentioned, the early morning crowing has also been absorbed into our sleeping routine.
Incidentally, roosters crow all day long, not only in the morning. You just notice it more in the morning when everything else is silent. Pay attention next time you find yourself in the company of a rooster and you're sure to witness a crowing sesh or three.
A reason to jump out of bed before dawn on those dark, cold winter mornings when summer feels like a faded black and white photograph from decades ago has been inspiring, not annoying. The animals are waiting for me. They need me. When I round the corner of the house whisper-singing my good mornings - Good morning ladies and gentlemen, good moooorning. How's everybody doing this morning? - they bustle to life. The chickens - Mary Lou, Millie, Doris and Mabel - scrabble around, contributing gentle cackles and clucks, Otis the pot-bellied pig grunts and snortles his way out of the little wooden structure he's meticulously decorated with straw, shakes the excess off his body and trots excitedly to the gate to wait for me to dish up his food and water. The ducks - Ribsy, Wiley and Sunny - are always pleased to see me. They honk and chatter hello as they waddle into their yard, vibrating joyously in anticipation of their morning influx of hose water.
You really haven't lived until you've seen ducks enjoy fresh water. Think spring breakers swilling alcohol from bodily crevices. Or, on the opposite end of the analogy spectrum; an exhuberant kindergartener bobbing for apples at a top-notch Halloween party for the elementary set. Ducks really like water is what I'm saying and their enjoyment is very, very apparent.
Amid the gentle animal chatter I breathe deeply, inhaling the brisk winter air then watch my breath leave my body in spectral puffs. I look up at stars so brilliant it makes my chest ache. Shadowy pines swaying in the soft breeze form a protective circle around me as they stretch into the inky sky, reaching for the universe. I feel very alive and connected to things previously unseen and unfelt.
Despiértate, Monica.
I am awake. Aware. Aware of my soul; the part of me that's neither thought or feeling. Just being. Aware of being. Thankful of being. Grateful for the moments. Experiencing now. Not yesterday. Not tomorrow. Right now. It's all we've ever got.
If it sounds annoying to be crowed awake by a rooster it is, surprisingly, not. It should be, seems like, but he's a natural alarm that my brain hits snooze on until my iphone alarm offers competition at 5:30. Elijah eases me into the day first by crowing and ultimately by forcing me into the black, rubber muck boots I wear to clomp outside and tend to the animals.
First, I open the chicken coop nestled against the east side of our house to protect it from weather that roars in from the west. Elijah is just feet from our heads when he crows his good mornings, although, knowing Elijah it's probably more like WAKE-THE-FUCK-UP-ASSHOLE than a cheerful good morning. The headboard of our bed is positioned against the same wall that backs their coop on the other side. We don't mind. Faint scritch-scratch cluck-clucks as they settle in for the night are quite comforting and, as mentioned, the early morning crowing has also been absorbed into our sleeping routine.
Incidentally, roosters crow all day long, not only in the morning. You just notice it more in the morning when everything else is silent. Pay attention next time you find yourself in the company of a rooster and you're sure to witness a crowing sesh or three.
A reason to jump out of bed before dawn on those dark, cold winter mornings when summer feels like a faded black and white photograph from decades ago has been inspiring, not annoying. The animals are waiting for me. They need me. When I round the corner of the house whisper-singing my good mornings - Good morning ladies and gentlemen, good moooorning. How's everybody doing this morning? - they bustle to life. The chickens - Mary Lou, Millie, Doris and Mabel - scrabble around, contributing gentle cackles and clucks, Otis the pot-bellied pig grunts and snortles his way out of the little wooden structure he's meticulously decorated with straw, shakes the excess off his body and trots excitedly to the gate to wait for me to dish up his food and water. The ducks - Ribsy, Wiley and Sunny - are always pleased to see me. They honk and chatter hello as they waddle into their yard, vibrating joyously in anticipation of their morning influx of hose water.
You really haven't lived until you've seen ducks enjoy fresh water. Think spring breakers swilling alcohol from bodily crevices. Or, on the opposite end of the analogy spectrum; an exhuberant kindergartener bobbing for apples at a top-notch Halloween party for the elementary set. Ducks really like water is what I'm saying and their enjoyment is very, very apparent.
Amid the gentle animal chatter I breathe deeply, inhaling the brisk winter air then watch my breath leave my body in spectral puffs. I look up at stars so brilliant it makes my chest ache. Shadowy pines swaying in the soft breeze form a protective circle around me as they stretch into the inky sky, reaching for the universe. I feel very alive and connected to things previously unseen and unfelt.
Despiértate, Monica.
I am awake. Aware. Aware of my soul; the part of me that's neither thought or feeling. Just being. Aware of being. Thankful of being. Grateful for the moments. Experiencing now. Not yesterday. Not tomorrow. Right now. It's all we've ever got.
Mar 5, 2020 | 5 Comments
Reader Comments (5)
After checking this site almost daily for updates, I was thrilled to see you’d written something new.
I don’t know you. I don’t ever expect to meet you. But I’m so glad knowing you’re out there, writing and putting into words what the rest of us wish we could.
Please keep writing. And thank you.
You sound at peace. It's good to find you again...
This makes me miss my chickens...
It was good to pop in here for a visit. You're a great writer, Monica.
Happy to see you still writing here occasionally, Monica. I think about you every so often and wonder how you're doing. It makes me happy that you are feeling awake and whole and present. Just thought I would stop by and say hello.
I miss your writing