Morning Songbirds

Angel,

The mornings are still unseasonably cool but still and clear. The days are trying to warm up, though they do not fulfill the promise of the bright sunlight outside the office windows.  There is one noticeable difference lately in the pre-dawn darkness. Song birds have returned, following the geese that always arrive before they do. The songbirds sing out there shrill and warbled tunes, carried clear and loud through the crystal black morning. The 5 AM calls for a mate will waken those still slumbering in the back bedrooms, warm and drugged by drowsiness. The calls will pull them from dreams and it will take moments before they realize what has awoken them, rubbing their faces and wiping the sand of sleep from their eyes.

Some will become annoyed by the intrusion, angered at the loss of desired rest. Here, I know that in another life, another time, I would wake beside you - called from slumber and dreams by the sounds of a songbirds love, or lust. I would wake beside you and turn to see the pale moonlight angle across your white skin. And in the moment that the songs have invaded your dreams and your eyes flutter open, I would touch your shoulder as gentle as a breeze.  I would pull you to me, wrap you up in my arms, and as you lay in that world between sleep and wake, I would make slow gentle love to you - holding onto the warmth and dreams, letting the songs of birds weave in and out of our consciousness. We would drift through the morning, called by spring - and answered.

just me.