The pre-dawn light that used to etch each naked twig and branch has suddenly begun to depict a blurred tableau, one in which those sharply-seen branches are no longer stark but rather plump with buds.
And along those puffing branches, there are silhouettes of different birds which are filling the air with different songs. Some, as the day progresses, will pair off two-by-two and dance among the branches or along the neighborhood roof beams ... swoop and flutter and preen.
Robins and mourning doves and chickadees and some horde of black birds (grackles? starlings?) that invariably seems to take a break over my car ... and leave their shit as a reminder ... white-green drizzles that only scrubbing will remove. I wonder how they'd feel if I crapped on their modes of transportation. A vain question since birds are not stupid enough to drive cars and I haven't got the agility that they have.