Into the Quiet ~ L'assemblage by Michael Douglas Jones ©2019
6:23 ante meridiem per diem
Outside on the cedar bench; my old friend, the cedar bench; the two of us, grayed with age, ready for the rising. Due east, rounding glow starts, across the upper branch valley, beyond the woodfield ridge. In spring, the blush begins in the gap between the tall trees, and each new bud has a song that soon surrounds; maple song starts its chitterchirping, the pines join in with simple rhythm, before the oak arpeggio; every morning tree song sounds like birdvoice, but birds are not yet visible; the crows will be the first to fly and caw the all clear.
From all the way across the valley, fog filled mist moves toward me. Breathing in the cool calm air; deep enough to fill the empty; just enough to last the day. Air, cool and deep as the floods of freshet.
Within ten minutes, the graffiti of contrails and car horns overwhelms the atmosphere.
The simplest of pleasures, being filled in the quiet unfolding of this day. Not silence; silence is a different pleasure.