February 25: "Thelonious Morning," Beautiful and Sad, Billie Holiday

Billy Collins enjoys some jazz at dawn . . . 

Thelonious Morning

by:  Billy Collins

The breeze was slight

and moved only three

of the six wind chimes, 

which formed a minor chord.

I have Thelonious mornings, when something beautiful and sad exist at the same time.  It could be a crow scraping the air raw with its scream, like Charlie Parker hitting squealing high notes.  Or the sun slowly rhapsodizing clouds from purple to orange to gold at a February daybreak.  Or just the knuckle and bebop of snow under my boots as my dog takes a shit in the backyard.

Jazz is all around, making morning into mourning, evening into elegy.  I'm often awake well into night, open my eyes well before dawn.  So I hear solitary cars gliding down midnight streets and my dog howling softly as she chases the moon in her dreams.  I try to sleep, but my mind doesn't cooperate.  It prefers the company of starlight and skunks and owls.

As I type these words, my house (and everyone in it) is deep breathing its way to tomorrow.  Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow.  I'm tired, but not enough to be exhausted.  Cleaned my house today.  Hosted members of my book club for our monthly conversation.  Spent a few hours grading papers.  Read some.  Scribbled in my journal some.

In these winter doldrums (got that from a good friend who correctly diagnosed my current state of mind), I struggle with motivation and inspiration.  I'm at low tide, and all I can do is sit and stare at a universe of fallen starfish littering the sand.

Don't look for any kind of deep meaning or wisdom from me in this post.  Instead, press the conch shell of night to your ear and listen.

Let Saint Marty know if you hear the sea or Billie Holiday singing "Strange Fruit."