I love a June morning when I can see the yard and woods when I wake at 5 a.m. If I didn’t love the neighborhood where I live, I would seek out a place where there’s light at 5 a.m. year-round.
There’s a pause out on the highway and out the window, for a moment, all I hear is birdsong. It only lasts a few seconds, and then the cry of tires on asphalt resumes, but for a few seconds the only signs of humanity were the hum of the refrigerator and the sight of my hands racing across the page.
Now a plane putters overhead — or is that a distant truck approaching? They send similar rumblings into the sky.
And through all of this, the cardinals and robins and blackbirds continue their conversation.
