The clatter of dawning (Day 8 of 10 Days of Gratitude)

I left the house shortly after 7.  

It was fifteen or so minutes after the gently brilliant sunrise that woke me with new light through the bedroom window.  Once out on the walk it took that long again before I noticed and really heard them all around me.

It was good to be walking again so early in the morning.  The morning was fresh and clear.  The streets were quiet.  The wind was blustery and toque-and-gloves-chilly.  The recollection of brisk morning walks in recovery years ago was deeply satisfying.

Then finally settled into the walk and into my self, I heard them -- the birds all around me.  In treetops and bushes, on housetops and lawns, in the air and in my opening ears.  Singing all manner of songs and refrains.  Solo, and back and forth in sequence.  A cacophony of praise to the new dawning.  Thrilling and trilling.

I understand birds begin to sing to the new day even before it arrives.  Before the first slant of sun is seen or felt.  How many minutes before?  Maybe fifteen?  That seems to be the number of the day.

I wonder, do they simply anticipate the sun's rise?  Sense it in ways we don't?

Or does their song actually call the sun and the new day to arrive and be present?  Cheer the earth to complete that last bit of turn to make the miracle of new dawn happen?

Either way, they know it's on the way.  Imminent.  And happily and without stopping to think about it, they let the rest of us know.  We slow dullards who can spend a half hour in self-absorption before we hear them.  If even then.

I'm glad I heard them.  Didn't miss it as I so easily could, and so often have.

By the time I was almost back home they were starting to stop.  The general clatter reduced to a few scattered solos.  Then a handful of stuttering chirrups.  Until by about 7:50, silence.  

Dawning was over.  The new day now just was.  The only bird song the rest of the day will be random, unexcited, unexciting chatter.

I long often for the joy of the dawning, the moment of the arriving of the new day, the miracle of new light and gift of fresh start.

I know Easter is not until tomorrow.  Today is Holy Saturday, a day and longing night of deep vigil.

But I heard the birds this morning.  I know I will hear them again.  They are faithful.

I am grateful for them, and for having heard them today.  They teach me and help me to trust.  

I can wait now in confident hope for tomorrow's arriving.  For the gift of Easter.