|A butterfly that flirted with my mom & I this summer when |
we were walking along the Gorge. It wanted its closeup!
When I sleep with my bedroom windows open, which is about 9 months of the year, I wake up to the shooshing sounds of traffic on Charlotte Street & the sound of birds. (Actually, the first sound is usually a beep beep beep back the little (or not so little) truck up & then two or three loud "you get out of there, dumpster trash" sounds. Who needs an alarm clock.) But the most lovely sound is birdsong.
Today must have been dumpster guy's day off. Maybe I slept through it. The first sound I heard was one of my favorite birds. I have no idea what it looks like, but the song goes choopitty choopitty choopitty choo. I could be spelling that wrong. Grin. Except sometimes there's no last syllable, just a series of choopitty choopitty choopitty, 2 or 3 or 4 in a row, until -- wait for it -- there it is: choo. It's so fun. What makes it decide? To choo or not to choo, that is the question.
Anyway, I like it, even if I don't understand. Dramatic tension. Mixing it up.
Goodnight, sweet princes & princesses.
May your morning bring birdsong.
268. Mix up some habit. If you always do something a certain way, stop short of completion -- before the choo -- & decide if there's another way to do it.