I woke early this morning and decided just to open my window and listen. The good thing about having woodland just behind us is that I don't need to travel anywhere in order to listen to the dawn chorus - and it was beautiful. Of course, it's as yet incomplete, as most of our summer visitors haven't yet arrived, but I was able to pick out several of the singers, which included a song thrush, not a bird I've actually seen in the garden for quite some time, but obviously they're not too far away!
For me music is essential to life, and I sometimes wonder how, or if, I might cope with deafness, should it happen to me. Perhaps I should take refuge in poetry, and find a music there that I could still hear. I enjoy reading the poems of others, and I feel compelled to write my own. This afternoon I gave a reading of some of my poems, something I hadn't done for a little while, and I was reminded how much I enjoy sharing my verses with others, but also how scary it can be to do that, for each poem is in some way an expose of myself, of my soul.
Sadly, I have struggled to write of late. One or two poems have made it onto these pages, but to me they don't seem the equals of those I've published over recent years. I have tried to work out why this may be, but as yet I have no answer. Perhaps my life just now is too settled a place, though somehow I doubt that's it. If there was a magic wand to wave, I'd wave it; instead, I'll just keep slogging away, and hope for a flash of inspirational light or for the songs of angels, or dawn birds perhaps, to revive a flame within me.
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