Hark! hark! the larkat heaven's gate sings,
And Phoebus 'gins arise,
His steeds to water at those springs
On chalic'd flowers that lies;
And winking Mary-buds begin
To ope their golden eyes;With everything that pretty is,
My lady sweet, arise: Arise, arise!
The early bird is the lark or so we believe because it sings at daybreak - but then again, my neighbor keeps chickens and they sing then too. I wondered down into the local village to get a Times and passed by our waterfront - still as a mirror. Early Sunday mornings here, in a settlement that had Englishmen about the time of Shakespeare's death and larks may have been around but mostly we have to read poetry about them or listen to music/recordings that depict their calls. No matter.
What we had this morning that probably the settlers had 350+ years ago was a tablet on which to draw quiet in which to listen. There had to be calm mornings back then - without a wavelet or a cat's paw of motion and the water doing nothing other than reflecting, the details, lines, edges all perfect.
This morning, after a week's worth of chainsaws after Irene passing has been unusually noisy but this morning, Sunday morning, was stone quiet. You could listen all you wanted but you would hear nothing so when a bird woke up the song stood out like red on white.We probably have a lark or two around here although I'd be hard pressed to know it if I saw it. However, I can enjoy Hark Hark a Lark and this very nice Sunday morning music (below), take my harbor walk and imagine things.