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It’s 4:25 am, and Quiet but for the whippoorwills which break the silence. How do I know they are whippoorwills? Because I like to say w-h-i-p-p-o-o-r-w-i-l-l-s. And because that’s the only way I can work in this beautiful poem by Howard Moss.
And then the whippoorwill
Begins its tireless, cool,
Calm, and precise lament—
Again and again and again—
Its love replying in kind,
Or blindly sung to itself,
Waiting for something to happen.~ Howard Moss, from “Going to Sleep in the Country,” New Selected Poems
Tireless, cool, calm, and precise lament. Again and again and again.
Not the tireless. Not the cool. Not the calm. But I’ve got the lament part down. And the again and again and again part. And I excel at waiting for something to happen.
GET UP. GET MOVING. TIME TO RUN.
My lips form wwwwhip, wwwwhippoor, and there it is: whippoorwill. Soothing. I repeat it Again and again and again.
There’s magic in the formation of these letters.
Or I’m a circus monkey. Continue reading “Running. With Whippoorwills.”
