It’s early when I step onto the porch.

The air is silent and still, infused with the notion of leftover moonlight.

The first bird musters up the courage to fill it.

Another joins in.

Then another.

Once this heart-lifting chorus establishes itself, a lone red squirrel breaks into a spontaneous solo. He seems to have taken offense with his whole world, and I chuckle as I leave him to it.

The air smells of sea, then pine… then neither.

Two sparrows tumble by in some sort of aerial sword fight, probably over a girl.

Nature’s off-broadway musical is genre-fluid, filled with romance and comedy, fantasy and crime. The performances are so good, time fades into the background.

There is much magic.

And then…

Soft music from the kitchen, Sting singing that he’ll be watching me.

The smell of bacon wanders through the open doorway, bringing with it the sound of a cup of coffee being poured… the tink of a fork placed onto marble.

A yawn from the chef.

Gathering up my flotsam and jetsam, I make my way inside…

While the birds carry on with their jazzy improv,

And that dang red squirrel, ever complaining, remains tone deaf, and wonder blind.

Thanks for readin’ (and Happy Mother’s Day).

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