cacophony
“Cacophony Calliope?” Thalia asked.
Her lips swished to the right, offering an imaginative image of a chipmunk holding a hickory nut in its cheek.
“It was the first word that popped into my head after we stepped through the sliding glass door and onto the frosty deck… I’ve learned not to ignore inspiration,” came the reply.
Calliope tilted her head skyward as if she was a baby bird expecting nourishment.
“And furthermore,” she continued, “I agree the bird song was far from harsh, but it was discordant… the fliers have not had choir practice together in quite some time.”
Urania flew into the conversation and offered, “Additional words for cacophony… babel, blare, bluster, bowwow… ,”
Bowwow caused her to fall to the floor, laughing with mirth. She held her belly and rolled like Henny when she finds a delightful smell. There had been lots of bowwow in the middle of the night from you know who.
“Can we just rejoice in the first day of spring?” asked Calliope.
“We can,” Thalia and Urania nodded.
“Anything is possible…”
Did you ever see an unhappy horse? Did you ever see a bird that has the blues? One reason birds and horses are not unhappy is because they are not trying to impress other birds and horses. ~Dale Carnegie
Pretty frosted crocus!
Okay, I have never seen an unhappy horse, but I’m not the equine type. However in bleak midwinter I have seen birds sitting in our backyard tree next to the feeder, not eating, puffed up on a branch with their heads pulled in, and the roaring silent vibe they put out is, “I am hungry but I am not moving because IT IS TOO FRAKIN’ COLD TO MOVE!”
Just sayin’.
“When the White Eagle of the North is flying overhead
And the browns, reds, and golds of Autumn lie in the gutter, dead.
Remember then that Summer birds with wings of fire flaying
Came to witness Spring’s new hope born of leaves decaying.
Just as new life will come of death, Love will come at leisure
Love of love, love of life, and giving without measure.
Gives in return a wondrous yearn of a promise almost seen
Live hand in hand and together we’ll stand on the threshold of a dream.”
Moody Blues, 1969, “On The Threshold Of A Dream”
Their music was lampooned by many. “Acid rock!” Psychedelic rock!” To me, the “rock” label didn’t fit. Rolling Stone just sniffed, “... an overlong joke.” My take was, “This is creative, hopeful, ethereal, wonderful.”
While released in my college years, I was “imprinted” on their musical form. So today the cycles of cold, temperate seasons easily evoke the words from this song. “Love of love, love of life, and giving without measure...”.
Not a bad candidate for an epitaph, carved into a heart pine marker. So, thanks Gail, for the memory evocation.