The blackbird, the bench and me.

After lunch today I lay down outside on my garden bench, bundled up in my puffy jacket, hood up, cosy and cocooned. I watched the wispy clouds obscure the sun, high up in the sky; so high even the larks aren't familiar with the view from that giddy height.
I fell asleep.
The blackbird chirped and tweeted with a bit too much enthusiasm.  Excitable, happy, bouncing feathery mass invading my slumbering space,
"Simmer down there Mr Blackbird!" I whispered.
I fell asleep.
My own song falls mute. Silenced by the volume of the thoughts in my head.  At times nothing seems able to drown the chatter.  Enthusiasm waning, breathing slowing, sleep creeps over me again. The dreamy thoughts come and go, as ever out with my reach; I can't truly grasp any meaning behind the words and images surfacing. And that's okay.
Then I begin to rouse again.
In my half awake state a quote leaps into my mind that I remembered hearing as a little girl,
"Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do." as a child back then I immediately thought,
 "That's not true!  They do know!"
Sitting back up, I wondered where all of that had come from! Mr Blackbird was unperturbed by my restless rest.  As ever his relentless chirping served as a  reminder that there is work to be done. Not even a dreamy Piscean perched on a bench in melancholy contemplation, was going to stop him.
These waves come and go.  They are all part of being human.  It only becomes problematic if we try to grab onto one of those waves and render it static. So, I've learnt to go with the flow, remaining unattached, attached only to the knowledge that all of this is forever changing.
"The trick is to be grateful when your mood is high and graceful when it is low." - Richard Carlson