…isn’t really so silent

This morning, I happened to wake up around 5 am.  Unable to get back to sleep, for some reason, I got up to do my morning pages and read for a little while.  (I’m reading 1491: New Revelations of the Americas Before Columbus by Charles C. Mann.  This fact has absolutely nothing to do with the rest of this post.)

Just as I was about to fall asleep again–because the new revelations, while actually quite fascinating, are not spell-binding (okay, so it has a little to do with the rest of this post)–I heard a heron.

Have you ever heard a heron?

It sounds like the worst violin lesson ever.  (I should know.  Once upon a time, I took violin lessons.)  It sounds like Harpo Marx’s horn.  It sounds like–well, not unlike–a donkey braying.

I thought to myself, This is the silence I moved 1000 miles to get.  This caw.  These croaks.  These cicada songs and squirrel chirrings.

And then I thought to myself, It’s a miracle.

Because this is exactly the silence I moved 1000 miles to get.  Even the distant traffic, the occasional shotgun blasts, the boat motors, pump motors, a/c motors–all of those are infinitely preferable to the shell shock of living beneath an undisciplined toddler.

The difference is I was awake by the time I heard the heron honk.  It wouldn’t have startled me out of a sound sleep with a bang, a thud and the earthquake rattle of the walls.  The battle fatigue of those days has abated.

I can wake up when I set my alarm clock.  I can write this blog post in peace.  I can anticipate an owl’s hoot or a heron’s honk instead of strain to block out the shake, rattle and roll.

I shouldn’t have had to move 1000 miles to get a few minutes of silence, but the miracle is –it worked.