In the denouement of dawn, the great dissolution of the night, the birds seem to anticipate at first and then grow still.
In the predawn mostly-darkness, they chorus and soar and make a hell of a racket: "Get ready!" they intone as one and in their crescendo, the night is once more defeated.
But when the sun grows visible and bright and when "day" takes on meaning, they slump back into an occasionally-punctuated silence. Things in the light are as quiet and resounding as they are in darkness and the birds know ... and don't make too big a deal about it.
It's over.
It's begun.
Did it ever cease or begin?
As here, mornings and evenings get noisy. Days can be punctuated by the occasional battle between a squirrel and woodpecker over a nut. And dispatched a rattlesnake in the pasture this morning while out to resent a well pump, 'tis the season.
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