What sound would you like to hear in paradise?

The fever has broken and the morning was revealed to me in fresh grey air and raindrops dancing with the constant song of a whip-poor-will.

“Is it the mating season?” was my first thought of the day.

My second thought was, “I don’t even know what a whip-poor-will sounds like.”

His song turned out to be pre-recorded and set to a timer on my computer. It may have been a good thing since I was trying to figure out what sound to make out my window to respond to his call. I’m not even sure how to express to a whip-poor-will that I’m not interested in whatever he’s selling.

Birds. Can we live without them?

My grandad said birds are the crickets of the sky, and to this day I’m not sure if he meant it as an insult, cause once upon a time the sound of crickets put me to sleep at night, but only until I’d discovered they were preparing for the apocalypse in my garage. Then I became the leader of the end of times and later wondered how many food chains I’d broken and whether crickets turn into birds when folks are sleeping.

Then it dawned on me that my life is also a sound that might put someone to sleep or possibly wake them up and that in the end, I’m also just a speck on the earth’s floor until my personal apocalypse arrives. It then made perfect sense to me, to become a bird when folks are sleeping.

Maybe I’ll practice the bird of paradise song just in case. There’s no need of waiting until death to sing since the train is coming regardless.

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