I come downstairs as the sky is just waking, as she is rolling over to shed her heavy black blanket of night, shaking off stars, revealing a bright blue lining. It’s that time before the sun breaches the horizon on its journey to hang a lamp high above us, like a gatekeeper from a Dickens novel, illuminating the way, beckoning us to follow him out into the day.
But the gatekeeper with his lantern has not yet begun his assent. The sky is still blanketed in a deep blue glow as I make my way to my office on the front porch. I stop to open the door of the parakeet’s cage as I pass it in the dining room. She is still sleeping, her head turned and tucked into her white, downy shoulder. I speak to her in that way we do with our beloved animals, with unguarded ease. “Good morning Poe. Come on out and stretch those wings, baby.” I whisper softly as I raise the cage door and leave her to find her way out, in her own time.
I sit down at my desk in the front room to write and hear the familiar ring of a tiny bell signaling Poe has climbed out the little door and up to the top of the cage where her toys are. There is a quiet, soft chirping that escalates to singing as the light on the horizon becomes brighter and brighter through the east-facing windows of the dining room.
Soon I hear the flutter of wings and I know she is flying; round and round and round the dining room before she heads through the porch door to find me, landing expertly on the arm of the reading glasses I’m wearing, just next to the hinge. She bends her head over the front of the lens and starts tap, tap tapping on the glass. I can feel the warmth of her chest against my forehead, the manic beating of her little heart from flight. She is squawking at first, scolding me. For what, I’m not sure, So I ask her. As I begin to talk to her she settles in against my skin, cooing as she grooms my eyebrow with her tiny pink tongue.
Finally she pauses from this earnest work of hers as my stylist and rests her beak against my head. She sits there for a moment, almost like she is laying a tender kiss on my forehead before she is off once again on her morning flight. Round and round and round the inner rooms I hear her wings beating, her feathers rustling through the air and then suddenly stopping as she lands somewhere. A voice from the kitchen says, “Well good morning Poe,” speaking to her in that way we do with our beloved animals, with unguarded ease.
One by one, my sleeping family begins to wake, following that beckoning gatekeeper of light into this beautiful day. This is it. This simple bliss. Divinity in the everyday. What does yours look like? Notice. Wake up aware that it is there and it will always reveal itself to you–this divinity in the everyday, every day.