On the deck at 7 AM. Another perfect morning. Nature is making itself known . First, it is in my hair and my face – little no seem-em’s and probably a mosquito too. Itch, scratch, slap. Oh well, I am too comfortable to get up and do something about it.

I am sitting on the deck of our small cottage here in Springs. Tall, very tall trees sway just a bit in this early morning breeze. I am alone and no one else is up. I am grateful.

Birds sound off: I have heard the rooster who’s crowing for many years. Is it he or his offspring? Little short, insistent cawing of crows come in now, then a warbling of another variety. Are they holding water in their mouths as we did when we were children? Are they bird-children?

I break from this writing to think of breakfast and what I can provide the brood inside. I make a grocery list but I am brought back by a small dark bird sitting nearly above my head. It makes a short sound — “pawk pawk” — like a baby chicken.

Then there is a dove-like sound, cooing, a little mournful, and she stops often with long silences so that I can hear the others. Perhaps she waits for a return call.

Something, suddenly, a real trill, and then a song, three beats, “tweeta tweeta tweet.” This is truly a place of nature: “tweeta” comes closer. I don’t see her though I know she is high up and near.

In all these years of sitting on the deck and I never really listened to these fellows and gals – birds. A real chatterer speaks up, “beep beep beep beep.” He is joined by a two-tone beeper, and even a tiny, short tweeter. Maybe it’s a modern bird song, a ring tone.

Mainly I am very happy that the kids came home safely and that they are now inside. They make only the noise of sleeping people – they are people now, not kids anymore, really.

Finally, I go inside leaving the symphony, knowing they will continue with- out me. The cat comes out from a bedroom to say “hello” as I make coffee in the kitchen. He tries to come outside with me and see what is going on out here. Back on the deck, alone, I hear his paws on the inside of the kitchen door. He is an indoor cat, an apartment cat. He would so like to hear the birds.

Now the breeze comes again swirling the leaves. The dove coos and then I hear another dove in the distance. Finally she has feedback!

I sit, hoping for another cantata. Do I hear an owl now? A chorus of breezes push through the leafy covering. The breeze makes the soft sound of a brush on a cymbal. I am home.