The Middle of the Night

I was up in the middle of the night last night. I didn't feel well. As I tried to get comfortable in bed and convince myself that I didn't have to throw up, I thought I heard birds chirping. Now it was nowhere even close to dawn so those tweets and caws got my attention. I peeled myself out of bed to go to the window where I confirmed I was hearing birds. Songbirds. I know all about the dawn chorus, but now I'm familiar with the dead of night chorus too. It's lonely and often unnerving to be the only one up in the middle of the night. I can work myself up about all sorts of things when the house is full of shadows and strange sounds. Last night I listened to the birdsong and was soon sung to sleep for a few more hours of sweet dreams. I didn't think about the boogey man or my bank account or my belly.

About the same time Sunday night I was woken from deep sleep with a startle. I was sure I heard a gun shot and that it was just across the street. Tigger, who was asleep beside me, jumped and I could feel his fur swell under my hand to twice his normal size in an effort to appear more intimidating. Mike woke too. He assured me it was just thunder, but it wasn't until another crack sounded that I felt assured. Assured despite the fact that this boom was even louder and closer. I felt such relief that my kids were tucked in safe and sound down the hall of our dry house. That I know where they are and what they are doing is an easement. It's not that long ago such a nighttime disturbance would lead to a parade of tears and fears. Instead, Monday morning we all carried on about the intensity of the line that we listened to from our own beds. Turns out we all were awake in the middle of the night.