At 4:00 am, everything is silent. To hunt, hike or meditate—for whatever reason, I’m regularly up at this hour. Mostly, I guess, to absorb the hush.
It’s not quiet for very long. Within twenty or thirty minutes, I can hear it. That first bold, boisterous bird saying “good morning” to her family, her neighbors, her surroundings at large.
She doesn’t mind breaking the spell. Her call is far more significant than the propriety that orders the stillness. So she disrupts the library of trees, houses and telephone poles to startle the world awake with one small, strong voice.
Soon enough, her solo is blended into a chorus and the morning becomes a song before it’s even a picture.