Early morning call

· culture ·

It is evening. I'm listening to Aerial by Kate Bush while finishing reading Northern Lights by Philip Pullman -- not for the first time. My mind un-focuses, as it sometimes does, and themes start to twine together.

Dust. Blackbirds. Daemons. Invisibility. Light. Blackbirds.

I think back to the morning, when I was trying to explain to Mr. Bsag how to let blackbird song lull you back to sleep rather than keep you awake. You see, we have a blackbird who likes to start to sing at about 4 am, just outside our bedroom window. It wakes Mr. Bsag, and he finds that he can't go back to sleep while the bird is still singing. The odd thing is that it has exactly the opposite effect on me. I tend to wake when he gets out of bed to go and read, and I lie and listen to the song. I don't try to analyse it, but un-focus my mind while I let the sound wash over me. Unconsciously, I synchronise my breathing with the rhythm of the song. In the pause between each phrase, I inhale, then exhale as the lovely, dark gold, bubbling notes tumble out. It's almost as if his voice is mine as I drift towards sleep, and we have a conversation of souls -- as if he is my daemon.

These are fanciful thoughts of course, but the early hour and that odd state between wakefulness and sleep leads you to fanciful thoughts. As I feel myself on the point of moving into sleep, I feel a profound sense of sadness and loss that I can't stay to hear more of the song. I want to prolong that precious moment of contact.

My thoughts return to the present, and I listen to Kate duet with her blackbird on 'Aerial' with a secret smile.