My husband and I awoke at 3:30am this morning to the sound of music beneath our windows. I assumed it was a homeless person walking down the street with a boombox, but the music just got louder and more three dimensional as it approached. So Tom lept out of bed, looked out the window, and exclaimed something to the PG- effect of, ‘What the heck?!’. At this point, I too jumped out bed and joined him, only to witness about 100 people drumming, singing in Spanish and marching down the street.
Curiously, we were also wakened last week at 3:30am by the cries of a cat moving swiftly down Main street on all fuzzy fours. One to always help an animal in need, I threw on my robe and slippers – with dutiful hubby following – and rescued the grateful kitty from the freezing temps.
Becoming sort of a natural rhythm to our lives, we are often awoken around 3am, although usually for more subtle or ambiguous reasons. There are various theories as to why this may be and what it may mean. And yet then again, maybe it is whatever we make of it – whether a chance to be part of the miraculous, or climb back into our cozy bed.