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Symphony of Simple Sounds
Symphony of Simple Sounds Breanna DeSimone
I wake up to the sound of geese spearing through the spring-infused sky, native arrow strung from bow half a world away, aimed and made to fly. I wake up to ROTC chants crawling past window glass, men yelling pride to the morning as they learn how to defend. I wake up to the caressing cold of early morning pressing through insulated walls and sending me deeper into my cocoon of blankets. I wake up to the trill and chirp of dancing birds as they pass from tree to tree, searching for breakfast and company. Their song sounds like smiling feels and tugs at the corners of my drowsy lips. I wake up to the smell of severed grass and the low drone of mower blades; I can almost taste the dew outside. Light flickers in between closed blinds, teasing and tickling my tired skin and I stretch my bones, prepping for my own awakening. I open my unsteady eyes, grainy with the weight of too little sleep, and I thank the day for its symphony of simple sounds.
