I’ve lived my entire young adult to grown life in big cities. It takes a certain amount of time to adjust to the still and dark of the deep suburbs. After moving back to the States, from the constant hum in Bombay, it was odd…bleat of traffic missing, constant cacophony of birds, black nights.
The dogs woke up early today.
I woke up to the swish of Clover’s tail, her nose an inch away form mine. Her sharp eyes waiting expectantly, no one keeps Clover waiting. Off we went, swift and unkempt into the early morning. And it was odd. The pitch of night present, too early for birdsong. We three ambled down the road to the spot they like, the shuffle of my too loose Croc’s, the click of their nails against the tar road the only sound breaking silence, until relief.
Inky early morning and finally the dawn chorus began, as I punched in the code to the garage door and we ducked in. The song of birds echoing through the early morning, unexpectedly, oddly reassuring.