The symphony seems to begin at 3;30-4:00 in the morning -- the birds holding forth, each with its own important instrument, in the darkness. It's a bit like having a teenager in the basement with a drum set and sometimes I want to holler, "Turn it down!"
But the symphony is the symphony and there never is a volume control.
The birds weave themselves into the dark silence even as the dark silence weaves itself into the birdsong. It's all of a piece and each finds a partnered voice in the coming of light. As the light tiptoes in, the darkness turns down its volume and so do the birds.
By now, at shortly after 6, the light has taken center stage and the birds become an occasional background note while the darkness keeps its peace.
Like any music, none of it has edges or end. As with any symphony, there is a time for French horns and a time for violas, a time for darkness and a time for light, a time for hollering and a time for volume control.
But always there is deliciousness and delight ... no need for applause.