This is to be a bird note.

One of the magical gifts of spring

one of the magical gifts of spring is to hear the dawn song.

As early morning light extinguishes the stars,

as the first rays of sunlight fill the trees,

male birds begin to pour out their songs.

Morblers, sparrows, chikages, thrches, wrenches, wrens, blackbirds.

While the awe and majesty of this symphony at dawn are hard to convey poet Emily Dickinson described it this way

The birds begun at four o'clock, their period for dawn, a music numerous as space and measureless

as noon. I could not count their force. Their voices did expend as Brooke by brook bestows itself to magnify the pond.

Their witnesses were not except occasional man and homely industry aed to overtake the morn. Nor was it for applause that I

could ascertain. But independent ecstasy of deity and Men.

For Bird Note, I'm Mary McCann. Subscribe to the Bird Note Podcast featuring special extended episodes we can't fit on the radio.

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