I rise to spring sounds of birds singing airy notes from black branches silhouetted before a navy sky.  The world is not light, but it is less dark.  The sounds seem as if coming from the depths of a wooded forest, but it is only a few trees in the yard and hedgerows in the far distance.  I don’t know where all the sounds and their fleeting bodies go when day becomes.  Their voices are great for such faint bodies. 

                I wonder why they are so active in the predawn hour and what they do with the rest of their days.  Maybe they’re like me: the early hours to self and dreams and day to the rest of the world.  Maybe they rise and sing just to see the dawn and, having fulfilled their little souls with the show of color and light, proceed into day and on to whatever it is little birds do. 

                I don’t know, and I don’t really think about it.  It was just a thought that came this morning listening to their songs. 

                The sun rises further. A hint of salmon streaks beneath the lowest sky-strand of cloud.  Under this, a fainter blue shows of a nearing sun.  Soon day will be here, but not yet, and the birds sing on, encouraging it to rise.

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