Morning Calls

Waiting at the station, a plane drones overhead, buses grumble and whoosh as they pause at the bus stop, cars rush noisily to their destinations. Commuters prowl the platform, rustling papers, whistling from earphones, chatting, yawning, heels clicking on concrete. All around the sounds of the day slowly build.

A piercing melody cuts through the haze of noise, heads turn to gaze, to listen. A few people lower their morning tales of death and crime, and stand motionless to capture the serenade. All too soon the train rumbles into view and the familiar noise of morning returns.

But for that moment, for one brief song, a few of us stood, captivated, lulled and buoyed. Marvelling at the beauty of the moment, the late moon and morning sun beamed down on the assembly. As the clouds lightly scrolled across the translucent sky, the sweetest melody washed over us and caressed our spirits.

Thank you little blackbird. Thank you.