Be still…

The birds on the tree outside my window are talking. I have no idea what they are saying, although it sounds like a strange kind of arguing. It’s as if they are having a dispute and each trying to talk over the top of each other. I guess it could be a call of longing; for their partner, their children, some food, some peace and quiet.

Or is it a happy sound? Just talking because they can and because they are happy. They are free. Free as themselves. Their chatter goes on, each bird sounding remarkably different.

Above my head there is a scratching sound in the roof. I’ve been listening to it for a few days now. It likes to scurry around up there while I am eating lunch and then again when I go to bed. It sounds too loud to be just a mouse, yet too quite to be a possum. What am I harbouring up there? Will it come down for a visit? For now, I shall just sit and listen to it going about its day.

In the distance is the sound of a car. It may be a bit strange, but I have always been one to wonder where people are going in their car. As a passenger in the car, I can observe the others on the road. Some pass by with children in the backseat, with their boot full of towels, boogie boards and the hope of a lovely day at the beach. Other cars pass which appear to be quite empty, only a man and his business suit hanging from the backseat window. Rushing too and from meetings. There are deadlines, planes to catch, phone calls to be made which cannot wait until they return to the office. I wonder if their lives are empty too.

I remember looking out the window of the car yesterday and seeing a cheerleading hamster. It’s amazing what the clouds can be if you look close enough. Be still and just look.

The sun is shining through the window, yet its warmth is overshadowed by the howling wind. Its icy breath cuts through any warmth the sun wishes to give. I can see the trees dancing to the rhythm of the wind; each branch swaying, each leaf fluttering.

The house is talking too. Each creak and groan a reminder of the wind outside. It’s as if the walls are talking. Telling me their story; who they have sheltered here. Maybe they could tell me what's hiding in my roof.