Mother Nature must have been in a creative mood this morning. A beautiful streak of red across the sky gave it the appearance of a watercolor painting. The chorus of birds gave me the impression that they enjoyed it as well.
The “oo-ah, whoo, whoo, whoo” of the mourning doves reminded me of waking up early as a kid at my grandparents' home on Eagle Lake in Kansasville, Wisconsin. It seemed like every day was an adventure out there. I always loved it when we’d jump in Grandpa’s boat and make our way to McNamara’s Resort on the other side of the lake. He’d have a cold beer while I guzzled orange pop and drained him of quarters for the shuffleboard bowling game.
Grandpa has been gone for many years, but 96-year-old Grandma Dolly is still in her own apartment in Burlington. I’m headed down there on Friday and we’re going out for lunch. My once sharp-as-a-tack grandmother seems to be losing her memory and it is fading fast. So afterwards, I think we’ll take a drive to Eagle Lake – check out the old house, walk down to the beach and sit by the pier. I’m just going to listen - and soak in the stories that she can remember.
And I hope the mourning doves are there to sing to us.
Ask anyone who knows me and they’ll tell you I’m a music nut. I’ve played trumpet in concert bands, jazz bands, orchestras and marching bands. In the car or boat, at work or home, in the yard or at play – I always feel better when surrounded by music. But I have to admit, I turned down the music this past week and just listened: Listened to the rain with its rhythmic beat on the rooftop. Listened to the wind as it whispered through the trees in the yard. Listened to the chorus of crickets, cicada and croaking frogs singing in the gardens. I think it’s been as refreshing to me as it’s been to my lawn. And it was a reminder that the world’s best music, nature’s symphony, is found just out my back door.