Morning Has Broken

Morning Has Broken

Morning Has Broken (Photo credit: zenera)

Singer and song writer Yusuf Islam (a.ka. Cat Stevens) wrote a popular song titled, Morning Has Broken that starts with the stanza, “Morning has broken, like the first morning …”

Because I’m a usually an early riser who loves the piece and quiet before the sun shows up, I’ve come to believe that no morning is in fact the same and that each morning is the first morning. No matter the rituals that might take place like clockwork, it’s the exact moment for that time.

My year is split equally between two distinctly different locations: a condominium complex in northern Florida, contrasts sharply with our farm house, barn and large meadow on a pond in New Hampshire.

Florida serves as a winter home, free from severe temperatures, months of snow, and days of depressing gray overcast weather. A place where I don’t have to worry about yard work, house upkeep, and I have an abundance of free time to follow my whims.

In Florida the early morning rhythms of my ‘hood’ begins with the newspaper delivery by 5:30, followed by a neighbor faithfully walking his dog. He’s usually greeted by several sets of joggers out it get in a run in before it’s time to strap on the corporate holster (cell phones, lap top) and head out to take on the global markets. Finally before the neighborhood settles down a few garage doors open and discharge the remaining daily workforce. By that time I’ve welcomed another day with my morning rituals.

In N.H. in our life on a dirt road, morning presents itself very differently. From my second story office overlooking the pond I may see a light across the water in one of the few, year round houses. Instead of the newspaper, joggers, dog walker scenario I’m more likely to see the local beaver family cruising the shore line. Their usually followed by from one to three families of geese coming in, full squawking mode, looking for my wife’s corn meal breakfast handout. About that time the sun begins to crest the ridge and I can get on with my coffee on the dock.

In both instances I’ve come to appreciate my surroundings even if one may seem a little more exotic that the other. They both present a ‘first morning ‘ with all the hope and glory of a new beginning. What will this day bring? What will I contribute to this day that is worthwhile to mankind?

I’ve also come to believe that during this time if I’m quiet and I listen closely, both places reveal secrets from long ago. Voices in the wind, from the creatures and people who we the current neighbors  have replaced. I believe there are echoes in the grasses and stones. Much of it coming from long before us humans came to these places. It’s the voices of the land, the spirits of the wind and, the shadows of the moon. But mostly, in both places, it’s the voice of silence.

What do you hear at your silent places?

 


 

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