You are currently viewing Mockingbird Miss You

Mockingbird Miss You

Photo by jurien huggins on Unsplash

There was time that I was lying awake at night for several hours in the middle of the night. It was a real bonafide case of  insomnia, caused by many things, but once I understood the physiology of it, it didn’t bother me too much. I always feel calmer when I understand a process and why it’s happening. I committed myself to rolling with it and figuring it out. It was new foray into human psyche and physiology; a couple of my favorite subjects. I figured that if I got really tired anyway, I would eventually pass out from the fatigue and my body would sleep. So I decided to make the best of it. Sometimes I’d get up and clean. For some reason it really made me feel clear as if I had cleaned my own inner psyche. Most of the time this would result in a fall into the restful crevice that I craved. I would drop off, my obsessions worked away with a dust rag and mop.

Another favorite was listening to complete albums. When I was young, before the internet, this was a fun way to spend the afternoon. Once the internet arrived and civilization moved into high speed living, I seemed not to have those hours anymore. Hours to just lay back and passively receive the magic of taking in a musician’s journey. Lying awake for hours in the night was the perfect setting for intense musical appreciation. I could float along on a timeless wave of notes drifting over my staring eyes and weighing down my eyelids until they were too heavy and closed with sleep.

The one thing that I enjoyed the most about this time, was a bird that took up residence in a tree near my window. My new guest was a mockingbird and he literally sang the night away. He would start his song at about midnight and carry on till about 4 am.  At first I didn’t realize it was one bird. Mockingbirds imitate other birds and don’t repeat a song during the course of their concert. It was amazing to listen to the endless variety of birdsong. His voice was loud and strong; so strong that he kept my neighbors awake too. The mockingbird made being awake in the middle of the night fun. It was wonderful just to lay back and listen to the endless birdsong and contemplate the mysteries of the world. As the spring progressed, his skills became more adept. His song became louder and more precise as he matured. He seemed to be somewhat of an opera star, loud and proud. I pictured him with a puffed up breast, his beak raised to the sky as his song rose into the night air reaching for the stars. He was really demanding, but seemed to deserve the attention he worked so hard for. He was consistent. He showed up on time. He was talented. I felt lucky.

Photo by Linh Pham on Unsplash

It went on like this for at least a month. My neighbors wearily complained that they were losing sleep and they didn’t love this bird like I did. I got it. I know not everyone appreciates gifts; even when it comes for free and has been there all along. I knew that most people when awakened in the middle of the night were disturbed and not delighted; unless it was a lover. Then suddenly, one night, the air lay silent. The night had been  abandoned by birdsong. The music that had provided entertainment through the wakeful early morning hours when most of the world slept and dreamed was no more. I was disappointed and a little disoriented. I really wished that he would come back. My ears seemed to ring with the silence that had once been filled with music and entertainment. Now I would have to move on and let the insomnia roll once more and take it’s course.

The next year another young mockingbird appeared, but his song was not as confident and his range seemed decreased. He sounded smaller and he progressed with time, but not to the heights of his predecessor. The  year following that, there was no return at all. Pretty soon I forgot about the bird. I forgot I had insomnia and life fell into a normal routine again. But sometimes, out of the blue, just like the night he appeared in my tree, the memory of him returns and those wakeful hours we spent together.  Him, joyfully entertaining the neighborhood and me, enjoying a concert when I needed it the most.