Timidly
When I woke this morning about five am this morning, the world outside of my bedroom window was dark and silent. There was no sounds of a breeze, no sounds of traffic, and it wasn’r raining. I remained in bed thinking I could possibly gain a few more minutes of shut-eye, but it was not to be. I was awake. Slowly the darkness outside lightened so I could make out the shapes of the trees and I heard the first tentative notes of a bird. It wasn’t a full song, only a few uncoordinated notes. The notes seemed tentative as if the bird was testing its voice. The silence returned. The feeble light remained, but was growing stronger. The sound of the same bird called out again. There were a few more notes, but still it was not completing its song. The bird’s calling fell silent again.
I remember reading that when the birds begin to sing that there are poores in the leaves of the trees which close at night and open in the daylight. The open pores take in carbon dioxide and release oxygen, retaining the carbon that nourishes the plant. Scientists have linked the opening of the pores to the singing of the birds. The bird songs seem to stimulate the trees to open their pores.
These thoughts were steeping in my brain as the morning light and the calling on this single bird grew longer and stronger. Soon several other birds joined the choir. Their songs blended together as the sun rose. After their melodies swelled into a cantata celebrating the morning, they seemed to still for awhile. Perhaps they were looking for breakfast.
I am awake now, rubbing the sleep from my eyes and thinking of the tasks at hand. Soon I will be shuffling through the house making breakfast noises and starting another day by adding a few more lines to the pages of my life.