THE DOGWOOD ORCHESTRA

It’s the close of another Sunday.  The sky’s bright blue color and has begun the decent into shades of evening navy, which will evolve into the inky blackness of night.

On the back patio of Dogwood, I find my trusty rocking chair and enjoy a quiet smoke alone.  A smooth breeze flows thru the trees around me, causing a hypnotic sway which eases me into a relaxed state of mind.

The light is fading, ever so slowly, so sweetly, and the creatures in the woods that surround our new home pick up their evening song.  It will build to a crescendo as the sun slips past the horizon, sending their music out over the night air with a strength that would make any AM radio station jealous.  

It’s quite a little orchestra I have playing around me. The frogs in the nearby pond lay the ground work of the bass and drums.  A thousand crickets’ play a slivery sound layer of stings overtop of the booming frogs. The breeze whispers through the branches overhead, creating a light yet potent sound of rustling and scrapes that complement the other elements already in the air.

Suddenly, and unexpectedly, the twill sound of tonight’s solo artist bursts forth over top the heavy orchestral tune.  I turn to see a little gray bird sitting just inside the lip of the concrete barbeque.  Later I discover that she has built her nest inside the cone of the chimney, and has laid her eggs. 

She is soon to be a mother.

But tonight, she is a star.

Her song is sad, somewhat mournful.  I wonder what could possibly make one of the Lord’s most beautiful creations so sad. But then I remember it’s just the opening of her song.

The notes begin low, but as the arrangement progresses, she sings from her heart. The notes dance in the air, becoming more and more energized and happy. Soon she is chirping at the top of her lungs. It is her song of celebration.  She is thanking her creator for another sweet day on the Earth, for her home and her soon to be born babes that will complete her existence.

The concert goes on for more than half an hour. But as the spot light of the fading sun exits, the song begins to lose its volume, and it too slowly fades into the darkness.

As the stars begin to twinkle overhead, the orchestra loses interest in its own tune.  The music of nature separates, and becomes simply noises of the night. The solo artist takes her bow, and retreats back to her dressing room in the chimney of the barbeque.  Suddenly, I am alone again, and the dark velvet of night makes me drowsy.

The curtain of night has fallen over the stage, and this evening’s performance has come to a close. Along with it, the day has finished too. 

So like the musicians who have entertained me, I pull myself from my front row seat, and sleepily move toward the door.