In grade school we took a course on art history called Learning to Look. On the farm, I have found a new course called Learning to Listen.
The crackly crow of the rooster is the first thing I am conscious of in the morning. Before my glasses are on, before my skin feels the weather, I hear that the day is indeed starting once again.
I hear the wind, changing with the maritime climate of the summer, before I see and feel the fog gusting through the valley.
I hear that the pigs are hungry or playing, or that they’ve veered too close to the electric fence.
I hear the birds, telling what time of day it is.
And all of this, all of this brings me to hearing my Self as well.
I hear that often, I truly need a glass of water. I hear that I ate too much. I hear that my body has been in the same position for too long. I hear my legs yearning for a run. I hear thoughts of friends only to have them reach out to me moments later.
And it extends beyond my body. I now hear that my car is sick. I hear that I have an engine coolant leak. I hear that a friend is not depressed, but needs their spine aligned. I hear that something is wrong in the chicken coop.
I hear tasks forgotten on the farm, only to find a co-worker has heard it too… in the same moment… as we both end up at the grain shed. We then smile. I then know we are hearing the same thing, the same hum, the same breath, the same spin of the earth turning.