June 4

It is morning. Sky is bright blue. Outside the window, birds chirp, tweet, chitter, chatter, whistle, coo, caw. There is a slow rumble of a plane that sounds as if it is suspended overhead. Motionless except for the roaring engines. I haven’t been in the morning writing Zoom for at least a week if not more. It is 5:55. I immediately regret joining. Except for Wren, Robin, Jackdaw, Crow, Magpie, Blue Tit, Great Tit, Woodpigeon, and Rook, I am alone and feel that way.

I am still in Cambridge and today will be a full day. I do not want to start it with this ache around my heart. I listen to morning songs for a few minutes and think about what I want to feel in this moment at this particular time and this is not it. I need to find something else to carry into morning. By the time I realize it, there are footsteps beneath my window. With all of the birds in song, I imagine the footsteps might belong to a heavy-footed deer. Then there are keys jingling. The building is open.

Last night we went for a long walk around the gardens. There were Thrush, Robin, Buzzard, Pipit, Blackbird, Jackdaw, Woodpigeon, Dove, Blue Tit, Greenfinch. The gardens were filled with tweeting, cooing, cawing, chirping, whistling, twittering, and all manner of song. Suddenly the air filled with honks. A flock of geese came gliding through the air, lower, lower, lower. They brought with them honking and a buzzing sound. Wind. Then a sssssssssssss as they slide onto the pond. Graceful. Beautiful. United. It felt like being at the right place at the right time. Magic.

This morning, the plane still rumbles overhead as if it is a windup toy with nowhere to go. Birdsong is close and getting closer. Soon, I will step into morning, into the gardens and I will think about magic and nature and the right place and the right time, and I will not feel alone.