The View Is Wide

It came slowly, as slowly as they all came, this sign of life. At first a murmur, faint, distant, then building. A few sheep showed themselves for the first time, over near the fence line, a few wanderers straying back towards the trees. And the murmur grew into a noise, a harsh static, like tiny power tools were being started all over the place, now here, now over there, pull cords letting rip and briefly buzzing into life. The first bird called for the first time in the world from a tree just outside the window, and the unseen hens clucked in their pen away behind, as if to answer that they had been up for some hours, and had been working too. And the buzzing became a buzz and then a hum and then a constant sound. It was background now. Wallpaper. The chirping and calling blended and merged, but if you listened hard individual notes could be discerned and individual players detected. Thousands of miniscule notes swooping and soaring and then dying away. Harsh and discordant individually, but together a whole, the music of the morning.

Whistling shattered these thoughts. Although they were not really thoughts at all. Just drifting with a still mind on a still raft, calm. The whistle seemed shrill. It was the kettle. It was boiling on the little firewood stove.

And on the screen was a blank and the pencil was sharp but the notebook was blank too. The chair creaked and felt loose.

The smell was tea and it was eucalypt and it was browning grass. The smell was a warming day in the shed with no work yet done. The smell was easy calm.

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Published in: on August 16, 2012 at 8:24 pm  Leave a Comment  

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