10.4.18 Reflections in the rain
5.30 a.m. Sleep is something fragile lately. A robin is singing, clear and tender, and as I listen, I find I can hear the overlap of a blackbird too, but fainter, one territory over.
The different volumes give me a sudden feeling of distance. I can feel it between the sounds, that stretching of space. I realise these layers of song must exist again and again, each early bird taking up sound-space that overlaps another at its edges, like the way separate raindrops spread into each other on water. They must stretch the length and breadth of the island, these overlaid circles of sound, wakers like me rousing wearily in pockets of them, heads full.
That's how I will think of the dawn now. Spreading, bird by bird.