First light. A meteor slices through Orion below the belt, and I flinch like a spectator at a pro wrestling match.
Dawn. A bat zig-zags high over the meadow en route to its roost as the few clouds turn pink.
5:15. The crescent moon’s parenthesis gapes at Pleiades, which I watch until it’s subsumed into the dawn.
Dawn mediated by fog is slower, but it gets to the same, obvious spectacle in the end. And the usual wren has something to say about it.
Venus in the dawn sky. Phoebe, field sparrow, wood pewee. The alarm-snorts of a deer.
First light. Near where the stream gurgles under the road, a song sparrow sings a dream version of his usual song.
Dawn stealing influence from the just-past-full moon. The whip-poor-will awakening the catbird.
Dawn. A phoebe and a cardinal are singing in the rain. At the woods’ edge, the last patch of snow has shrunk to the size of a hubcap.
Dawn. In the dim light, a pitter-patter of freezing rain slowly turns into the dry whisper of sleet, then the hush of snow — and back again.
Slow winter dawn: light leaking through the trees. A Carolina wren’s molto vivace prompts his mate to respond in sforzando.