It is a lazy Sunday morning. I am sitting on the back porch, sipping my tea and watching a beautiful rust-colored rooster and his hen scratch the ground. A large, black bumblebee drones amongst the magenta blooms of the bougainvillea. In the distance cows are lowing, roosters crowing, goats bleating. A myriad of birds add to the Sunday morning symphony. The warm wind carries the whine of an occasional motorbike and the private conversation of two men from across the gully.
Best of all, the wind carries the singing.
The singing from the Catholic church on the next hilltop has been going on for at least an hour with no sign of finale. There is an electronic keyboard that sometimes accompanies, sometimes prays on its own. The melodies are colorful and smooth. The rhythms make you want to sway and dance. Some songs are bold. Some are peaceful. But there is mournfulness in the sounds, a longing. There is also joy. Strength. Hope.
On tour this summer, we sang a medley of Spirituals called “Songs of Strength and Hope.” I am finally beginning to understand, if only just a little.
birds? can you see any? what kind of birds? duh, I know, of all the beautiful thoughts and feelings you expounded on, I think birds….duh….are there many denominations of churches? do they have you singing and playing music yet? fools they, if not!
All I know of is the Catholic church and I think there’s an Anglican church. It is an Anglican school, so I’m guessing there’s an Anglican church as well. I’ll ask the Brits. As far as participating, I haven’t ventured over there yet. All in due time. I do miss singing something fierce. Orchestra, too.
bassoon, keyboard and guitar, it is a start 🙂 I bet the students will be able to teach you unbelievably fun music, a little different from formal “singing” I’m sure.
thanks for the blog, am enjoying it. talked to sarah yesterday, she finally discovered it and is going to sign up, I think. she has a new job, long story….as usual.
the rooster looks like a Rhode Island Red.
I guess. I wouldn’t know. All I know is you can’t walk 3 steps without having to kick a damn chicken out of your way.
I hate chickens!! dead or alive, they smell and are loud. when I was a kid the neighbor’s middle son used to sic his chickens on me, he used to dig bunge pits in the yard and lay in wait for me to fall into one so he could throw chickens on me. blark, chickens.
you do write lovely prose, almost makes me forget about the “no personal space” thing, which is a big NO for me.
Oh, Marianne, I am going to love following you on this beautiful blog! Good eye, good photos, good writing. I love mama!