Sleeping with the window open

The rain claps against the weathered pavement, an unexpected round of applause for the unassuming beauty of this morning. It’s just after six and the atmosphere is reflecting the drowsiness of its inhabitants. The wind yawns and grumbles; the sun is slow to emerge from its duvet of turgid clouds. It’s another day of semi-isolation, when the daily chatter of nature suddenly seems so loud.

The drizzle has a cooing affect, a pleasing tune to be treasured. It brings me back to my very first memory, when as a baby in a covered pram, I felt only warmth and security under a steady stream of rain. A gregarious owl I’ve heard rumblings of from neighbors thinks otherwise. Its call is haunting and urgent, imploring to be noticed. I crane my neck closer to the window and lend an ear to its long-winded lament.

Today will surely follow the pattern of previous days. Routine in the time of COVID-19 is hard to escape as my senses and those of my loved ones and distant peers are threatened by deficiency.

But as I lie still in bed this morning, my window open to nature’s complex chorus, I feel refreshed by the sensory gluttony. The rain claps and coos, the owl whistles and halts, unseen birds gossip about the strange habits of humans, just as they always do.

But only now, after sleeping with the window wide open, do I truly take notice.

Crack open your windows,

Anna