A couple of days ago, I went into the mountains really early. I woke up at 3:45. Made some Chai-tea. Left home at 4:30am and was on top of the Blue Ridge at 5 am. When I arrived, everything was quite. The moon was shining. Yet, there was no sound. No crickets, no owls. Not a leaf moving in the breeze; no small animal walking on the grass. Nothing. It felt to me as if I was in an auditorium just before a concert is about to start. I am arriving and taking my seat. The musicians are in the back already, present way before me and will initiate their song at any moment now.
Then, as I was breathing with quiet anticipation, one bird began a little chirp. Then silence. Then she did that again, to which another bird responded. Then a pause. The first one sang again. And now these two birds were having a conversation. A new bird with a new sound joined in. Then another. Then another. And another. Until there was a whole symphonic melody going with finely timed interjections from one bird and then another. It was a musical harmony of the highest sort.
I sat there with my eyes closed. Listening deeply to their song. It filled me up with joy. I felt refueled, rejuvenated and uplifted. Their song danced in my heart all day long. And the memory of the experience invites me to revisit the morning birds again.
All this was inspired by my Dad who came to visit us this April and convinced us to wake up real early to go see the sunrise on the mountains. Recently, something called me to do what my Dad inspired us to do...to go into the mountains early morning. It was an inspiration from within that guided me and it felt really good to follow that nudge.