Up at four today. At 6:30, I kiss my still-abed husband and go out onto the back deck.
The sun is not yet up but it is light enough for me to see that the shoots I transplanted yesterday have survived.
The cool air carries the sound of waking birds. A pigeon walks, silhouetted, along the telephone line.
When it half-jumps, half-flies to the telephone pole, the wire dances.