I imagine hundreds of voices singing “My Lord What a Mornin.” Singing quietly, in harmony, reverently. Voices, the only instruments needed to welcome this sunrise.

     Hidden from sight, American Goldfinch, Black-and-white Warbler, White-throated Sparrow, Wood Thrush, Hermit Thrush, Ovenbird sing in the rain. They do not wait for the sky to change color, for the sun to rise. We did not sleep through, nor see the sun rise today. Fenced-in-land holds water in low-lying places. Deck varnished with rain, tractor, truck shiny as if just polished. After the three are dried, given a biscuit, napping; while coffee drips into a yellow cup, after Ruger moves from the rug beside the door, I walk in the rain seeking another view of morning.

     Yellow platter clearing the horizon now shining white stirring the temperature into rising. Openwork lace of ice edges the pond shallows. Frost. I no longer feel winter’s chill. Rooster crows. Traffic stilled. Now, sun shines from the pond where it’s reflected. Birds greet Saturday: Northern Waterthrush, American Goldfinch, Black-and-white Warbler, Brown Creeper, Common Yellowthroat, Gray Catbird, Northern Flicker, Ovenbird.

     Sky blue. No clouds. White sun, bright, warming. Frost seen at 0340, vanished. The sound of Ruger roaming woke me, it doesn’t take much and if I’m still, the ringing in my ears stops, making it easier to hear. When we were outside in the wee hours 30* did not feel cold. Ruger doesn’t get up unless he needs something.

     Auto start brought the truck to life while I was watching the sky. In the past, a truck starting without a visible human startled Zsolt. He wasn’t outside. He was sleeping. We had been outside at 0230 when the rain stopped, the rain he didn’t want to walk in at last call at 0930 at 1015 at 1100. I took pictures of changing sky, pure white reflections of sun on water of sun appearing, of sun disappearing. The camera did not capture what I saw. I looked for the pair of black ducks I filmed yesterday when I thought at first, they were beaver. Wildflowers seeded last year beside the container are coming up strong. Fiddleheads appear where I didn’t see them yesterday. Lily of the Valley thrives. Common Evening Primrose is leafing. Rooster crows. Zsolt inspects oak flowers scattered on the deck swollen with rain, decides they are not food. I want to stay outside with the birds, Common Yellowthroat, Northern Parula, Ovenbird, Black-throated Green Warbler. The three want to go inside, get a biscuit, go to sleep. I dump rainwater off my chair. Open the door.

     The three more active than at 0500 in the rain. Zsolt initiated a chase while Ruger and I stood on the deck watching. Zayne stopped to look toward the stream. I listened to voices: Common Yellowthroat, Northern Parula, Black-capped Chickadee, White-throated Sparrow, American Robin, Northern Waterthrush, Downy Woodpecker, Black-throated Green Warbler. Some voices stronger than others, some voices distant. How many are listening?

     A Black-capped Chickadee sang while shades of orange, pink, purple smeared the sky making way for sunrise. I went back outside after the three had a biscuit, returned to sleep. Heard but did not see: Common Yellowthroat, Northern Flicker, Northern Waterthrush, American Robin, Black-capped Chickadee, Black and White Warbler. Stayed until fingers too cold to hold the camera. Steam from the slate blue cup pumps in heartbeats toward the shining desk light.

     0455 Stream like silver, horizon blue orange like paintings of canyons. As the three moved, lights came on shining in my eyes forcing my view back to the fenced-in-land. It was only when I turned from the railing that I realized the deck was slippidy, shining with frost, heavy frost. From the quiet, a Chickadee greets unseen. Door open after 0600 the three don’t go outside, they wait while I pour water into the pot, get a cup, press buttons. Fog rises from the moving stream like steam from the furnace vent in winter. Winter Wren is the only voice, above the hum of Monday morning traffic.

     Varnished with rain the deck shines under gray skies. Silence. No traffic passing, no rooster crowing, no birds talking, even the rain falls quietly. The three sleep after being dried, given a whole biscuit. In the pond something makes rings probably thinking rain is a bug fallen in. I hear the noise machine in the giant’s room soothing.

     Painted with oak blossoms, the deck seemed unfamiliar as if we had slept through seasons, awoken to fall. Zsolt had eyes on something in the pond as he rushed toward the fence. Dogs barked, sound carrying like the traffic harmonizing with the rooster stopping the three briefly to listen. Wood smoke from houses keeping warm tickled our noses. Frost clung to the car, to the fire pit cover, melted on the railing at the sun’s touch. Sky, one shade of blue. No clouds. Birds: Northern Waterthrush, Hairy Woodpecker, White-throated Sparrow, Downy Woodpecker, Northern Cardinal, American Crow.

     Still water reflects gray sky before splashing over downed log. Rooster crows. White-throated Sparrow picks through upended tree root system part of the natural debris bordering the falling-into-boulders land. The tree root system where a paper wasp nest found protection last year but no defense against winter. Tiny white flies randomly appear, like the beginning of snow not sure it should be falling. The three sit in the kitchen while I open a new box of biscuits.

     A few gleepers sang at 0400, perhaps there had been more voices before lights turned on as the three roamed fenced-in-land. Moon, stars, satellites invisible as the clouds that hid them. Robins speak into gray morning. Trees sway. Ruger leaves his place in the hall to lie by my chair. Giants sleep in their beds. Yesterday, tiny birds visited oak tree flowers. Were hummingbirds puzzled last year to discover silk flowers had no nectar? Perhaps the make-believe cedar wreath is best left on the gate.