The cool breeze that entered through my bedroom window this morning carried with it the call of the bluebird.
Was it trying to impress so as to attract a mate, or was it just fair warning that this spot had already been taken?
I’ll never know for sure.
The cicadas chimed in so that I would not forget them. And the crickets briefly chatted with one another from deep within the bushes below.
The rustling of leaves gave away the squirrels’ game of chase as they bounced from tree to tree and from pole to pole. A game that ended by dislodging the bluebird from its throne.
One lone owl – from who knows where – kept the measure of it all with its faint but distinctive sound.
Within an hour the mowers and the rakes and the gas propelled blowers would cut through the morning with an uninterrupted decibel range more inclined towards pain than delight.
But it’s all part of today’s suburban symphony. Lamentations that would soon conclude in stunning silence.
And the bluebird returns just in time for its afternoon recital.
Copyright (TZampino) 2020
Image Credit: Pixabay