A Morning in Paradise

Sunrise in the backyard

4:53 a.m. 63 degrees, wind S 2 mph. Lightly overcast, with breaks of blue, hints of sunrise rose, and butterscotch sunlight.

Fourteen species of birds, including one (measly) warbler (common yellowthroat). Only red-eyed vireo, dark-eyed junco, and American goldfinch sing nonstop; all other species render clipped songs and abrupt calls. Even the American robin keeps to himself.

Ruby-throated hummingbirds up early visit feeders that hang off the pergola and deck.

Surprise, surprise: Barred owl up late flies onto a dead, limp black cherry limb, hanging twenty feet above the raspberry patch. Owl stares, hunched over, considering. Exposed and vulnerable to torment. Tufted titmice and chipping sparrows, obliged, fly within ten feet of the owl—above and below—broadcasting agitated chips. Never make contact. Not even close. Keeping to himself, the owl stares unflinchingly beyond the raspberries. Then, drops ... one part balloon, one part stone, feet extended, talons spread. Breakfast. Feeds on the ground beneath the weft of canes.

I take the owl's lead and head into the kitchen.