When the Whippoorwills Call

When the Whippoorwills Call

 

I miss hearing whippoorwills and owls. I heard them often as a child, at night, with Mom and Dad in the next room and the world’s problems far away. Owls and whippoorwills are still out there, somewhere, in the dark woods at night, doing whatever night birds are supposed to do. Only thing is, I don’t hear them any more. They haven’t moved; I have.

There is wisdom and peace in quiet things, mysterious things. What were those ghost lights at Etta that floated through the darkness, scaring my cousins who happened to see them? When night tiptoes onto the countryside and the river sings its ages-old song, and small creatures slip through thick woods, do we ever sense their mystery and beauty? 

How reassuring it was, when I was a child, to wake during the wee, small hours and hear the call of one of God’s night birds. The darkness was not empty or lonely. The owls were awake. Or the whippoorwills. All was right with the world.

It seems to me, being the plain and simple country person that I am, that the really awful problems of this world, the hatred, violence, wars and murders would not exist if people would listen for the beauty of creation as God made it. If the clamor ceased, we just might hear the owls and whippoorwills.  

Manos Mysteries

Comments

  1. Carolyn Bayley says

    I don’t know how people can live where neighbors are fighting, kids screaming, cars beeping & roaring, & tv’s loud. I love the “quiet sounds.”

  2. I love this post Blanche. Thinking about the beauty and sounds of God’s night creation is very soothing and calming.

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