The windblown lark

Waterfront on Quiet Days

Hark! hark! the lark

at 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 - all waves and whitecaps. 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 was that probably the settlers had 350+ years ago; 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 watersurface motion and the sea doing nothing other than reflecting, the details, lines, edges all perfect.

This morning, after a week's worth of pre-holiday hustle and bustle has been an unusually noisy Friday morning, 

I miss the mornings when 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 day-to-be music (below), take my my brain for a spin, and imagine things.