Picture Courtesy www. doverlibrary.org
Time: 4:00 am
Date: January 3, 2011
The author’s state of mind: ARGUABLY SANE (No doctor’s were on hand to verify this)
I woke at precisely four after midnight. The harmattan was up too,
“Do you ever fall asleep?” I muttered as though trying to strike up a conversation. I turned on the lights in my bedroom and sat still for a while as though expecting something to happen. A disembodied voice from above would have been nice. Why was I up? Today’s a holiday and I’m awake wondering what to do with myself. The roosters were at their noisy best, yet I was not bothered by their cacophonous calls. In truth, I wished I could set eyes on them as they went about their morning calls. I have no idea why but humour me a bit
“When all else lies still, this feathered bird bothers shout atop its voice from roof tops like a muezzin in a call to prayer. There must be something divine in a cockcrow at dawn. Don’t you think?”
I crawled out of bed and rested my elbows on the windowsill. Staring out the window, I spied the moon suppress a yawn. The sight of me turned its blushes on and looking somewhat embarrassed, it began tending its garden. It went about this cheerfully and I would have asked him a question or two if I could but the phone lines to the moon are not yet up and running so I’ll probably make a mental note of my queries for now. After a while, watching the moon tend a garden became something of a bore. I tried counting sheep to pass the time hoping that at some point I’d begin to feel sleepy. I probed and prodded the starry sky with my eyes yet it seemed all the sheep had gone to sleep. My sheep count stood at zero though I had been searching for close to ten minutes.
“I wonder who came up with this whole idea of counting sheep so one can drift off to sleep. Guess next time I pass by the stars, I’ll take a few sheep with me. Should I leave a them behind, I’ll have them to count should I ever happen to be up at dawn for no reason again.”
Forty five minutes had passed by and not a single sheep had appeared. The moon had gone back to sleep and the stars kept giggling and nudging each other on my blindside. If only they knew I had no blindside. Whenever I turned in their direction they suddenly became still and the ones who thought themselves out of sight began giggling too. Frustrated and without sheep to count, I sought out the noisy roosters once again. On a normal day, I would be fuming.
“There should be a law on noise making at dawn. No feathered bird should hold man to ransom, don’t you agree? Sure you do. Sadly, I have an entourage of feathered birds. It is almost as though they do it on purpose. Each takes their turn and they never really seem to be done. A bout of sore throat for them would be nice for a change. Then I’d be the one laughing myself hoarse at their expense.”
But this was no normal day. The whole world was asleep and I was the only man awake, if only someone could tell me why, I’d gladly sit out the rest of the night without even making a sound. Finally, I left the window with straight lines running across my arms thanks to the window sill. I sat on my bed, with pen and paper in hand and to the sounds of the rooster choir practicing for next year’s New Year bash, I wrote these words down:
A story never sleeps,
It sits wide awake
Waiting to be let loose.
When it runs out of patience
With you,
It wakes you up at dawn
For no reason.
I tell you,
Until you’ve told a
Story or two of your own,
You’ll never know peace.
Hogwash, you say,
Really?
Why else would I be up
This early on the morning
Of a holiday?
A story has asked me to write.
As I put my pen and paper near the lamp. The feathered choir was drawing curtains on the morning’s performance though a few incorrigible ones were still belting out a South African tune. The birds had began chirping in annoyance as though saying,
“Times up you lazy birds. Try flying for at least kilometer and you could learn a thing or two about time management. It’s our turn to practice. Scoot!!!”
Roosters remained quiet largely for most of the time but a few heckled the new choir defiantly. I turned the lights out and tried sleeping again. It worked like a charm. I was long gone before the roosters and humming birds could begin an all out brawl. I sure hope they did not, only feathers and beaks suffer in a bird fight. Adios amigos…..
PS: NO ROOSTERS, CHORISTERS, MOONS, STARS AND WINDOWSILLS WERE HARMED IN THE WRITING OF THIS PIECE.....AT LEAST I THINK SO.
