Last night, I went to bed rather early, and slept restlessly. I had unpleasant dreams, and I remember almost none of them. Broken things, unhappy things. Things that made me cringe and roll over uncomfortably in my sleep.
Finally, at 3:30 this morning, I forced myself awake. I walked around, got some water, put on my hoodie and went onto the back porch for a cigarette and to finish clearing the unpleasantness from my brain.
It was perfectly still in my neighborhood at 3:30 this morning. Dark, a little foggy. And quiet. As quiet as I've ever heard this city. No traffic noise, no kids, no cyclists, no dogs barking. Utter, utter quiet.
Except for one bird, singing. This bird sang the variations on the same four notes, purely and clearly. The bird sang to me as I exhaled smoke and stress and all the unpleasantness of my sleep. His song filled the early-morning world as if he was the only living being in the world.
Surreal and so perfectly lovely it was almost painful. And, for a moment at 3:30am, I was nearly overwhelmed with the beauty of the world.
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