Four-thirty comes early in the morning, but I cannot pass up these silent moments of morning. All the curtains are opened so I can take in the fading stars of night and witness the birth of a new day. A fresh covering of frost outlines the railing to my deck. It is a crisp contrast to the night and will glisten in a short time with daybreak. My white rose bush is void of blooms, but her tender foliage is jeweled brightly in thick green leaves. So many of my songbirds are silent in winter. They are much to busy eating to sing.
December's song is that of the giant redheaded woodpecker. As the mornings blush blooms to a white glow, he begins his song. Not his exotic call I hear so often at mid-day. This morning he calls till his mate joins him. He descends his branch and joins her. She has landed on Autumn's castaway leaves. For a short moment, their song rings out.
Despite the cold, I have my kitchen window open, giving me a front row seat to the duet. The scent of a hickory log smoldering nearby greets me. It is a pleasant aroma that blends nicely with the ham in my skillet. Once the morning greeting is complete, each bird takes to a tree, and the percussions begin. First, the sound is in unison. Then a counter beat begins. A Hermit Thrush whistles at the pair. They ignore him as do I, breakfast is cooked and the morning serenade is over. The nutty aroma of my coffee greets me, and I head to my keyboard to capture the moment.