In a Word: Dawn

by obalint


Sparrow-fart. That’s a Bob’s-your-uncle term for the earliest time of the morning. It’s about the time when all the sparrows get up and let out a little fart signifying their awakening at the crack of dawn. How cute.

Like a murmuration of starlings signifying dawn’s exact and equal opposite: dusk. The murmur is a welcoming, reassuring finish to the day. They’re such stars. Are they also lings then too? An underling star. Just little stars with so much stellar capacity. A star in training. A starling.

What else?


Dawn in Canberra is much like dawn everywhere else: nightfall falls ’til it can’t fall no more, and in the nick of time the sun arrives, finishing the overture with a deafening crescendo of solar comic relief. Slowly changing light entices, tickles, encourages, gently caresses the restful land, and its cohort, to the point of being arisen. But in the capital territory, and anywhere else with a Grandma’s Own ™ dose of nature, there’s a pervasive flora and fauna symphony: birds, dewiness, roos, illumination…freshness. Nothing phoney about that.

Dawn runs around Mt Ainslie, Mt Majura, Black Mountain, O’Connor Ridge, Red Hill, lake BG, the ‘hood, at a freckle past sparrow-fart uncover the extraordinary calm before the chaos of an ordinary day.

Rowers on the lake. Milk deliveries. Wafts of bread. Hot air balloons. Skywhale what? War Memorial radiating misty reminders of April dawn services. Roos practicing their hip hop; noble creatures most usually, but they’ll mess your shit up if you get in the middle of a morning beat boxing session.


Also a great time to practice running writing; composing thoughts, scribbling mental notes for the day. What am I gonna wear? Will there be another hilarious passive aggressive note on the office fridge? Is 87 too many times to listen to Bomfunk MC’s Freestyler on repeat? Is there anything that peanut butter doesn’t go with? Why is ending a sentence with a preposition so frowned upon?

The big questions.

Getting up out of warm, comfortable bed is a considerable price one pays to dabble in the dalliance of dawn. Sometimes you have to wonder if 5:27am really is a time. 5:27am? Really?! I’m not anti-ante meridiem but it does seem a tad uncivilised…just a little too early to be viable. Not sure if the head honcho is gonna sign off on that one. My body doth protest…but then again, it doth protest too much. Comfort of bed forgotten, watching the moon set in the west as the sun rises in the east, flirting with the magnetic mountains as they travel is…audacious, stunning, whimsical, regimented, practical. Well done universe. Gold star. Gold starling.

Just like dawn, have a yawn, open your sleepy eyes and attend the symphony from time to time…or not. Classical music is beautiful, but the soothing chanson of serene slumber is rockin’ too.