I’ve been waking up before the alarm goes off, lately. This happens every year around the time spring starts moving into summer. With the bedroom windows open to the cool night air, early morning birdsong slips between the curtains, tripping lightly across the room to the edge of my bed. It spirals around my head, then dips into the last chapter of a dream, closing it with a lively tune.
This morning, two goldfinches sat on the very lowest pegs of the bird feeder, which hangs off the eave at the window by my desk. On one side the male, with his bright yellow jacket and black trimmed sleeve-cuffs, was busy crushing seed in his beak. On the other, his less vibrantly feathered female counterpart flicked the last of the millet to the ground and pulled out what was left of the nyjer seeds. Now and then a brief peek around the feeder and a quick chirped remark, to acknowledge the presence of her mate.
