Near the jungle gym, I think.
At least that's what it sounds like.
The birds are doing their rendition of a grade school recess.
Robins, bluejays, orioles, finches, grosbeaks, and friends.
It sounds like British Parliament.
With more of a melody.
Wha-
I'm not sure how that happened.
It's like everyone stopped to take a breath.
Like the recess bell had rung.
Hey - hear that?
"Cheeeeez burr-ger"
"Cheeeeez burr-ger"
A lone chickadee singing through the breath.
Recess has started again.
The chickadee.
The little guy who sticks around even during the winter. All year. All the time.
30 below to 90 above.
Huh.
The chickadees are the only ones I hear on those frozen mornings as I coax the car to life.
Now that the weather's nice, the birds are coming back to the woods. The neighborhood is filled with early morning recess.
Drowning out the chickadees.
I migrate to the kitchen to brew the Elixir of Knowledge.
It starts to gurgle as I stand by the open door, listening to the sounds outside.
Huh.
When life is nice and easy, there are lotsa voices and noises.
Things are poppin'.
Places to go.
Yeah, baby.
Boogity-boogity.
Then life gets cold.
And windy.
Not so nice and easy.
The fun fades.
The pace slows.
And the desolete quiet comes.
And then we hear it.
His voice.
Still and small.
Singing to us.
Always there.
Just hard to hear with all the other stuff going on.
Until the other stuff is gone.
Huh.
I wouldn't have guessed that chickadees could be theological.
Ever wonder what "cheeez burr-ger"
means in the original Hebrew?