Bird's Song

always one sudden chirp in the first light trailed off by the excited twits of a flock. birds in the giant trees outside my window, how timely they are each morn, I wonder they take turns to greet each new day. the same hour, these little creatures set their time on a body clock to herald in new adventures. their scintillating morn chatters strike my curiosity about their tales. one must get the bettle that escaped capture yesterday still hiding in its hole perhaps, the other still prays to have the same fat worm he had yesterday and is definitely heading for the same promising place, another wonders when it would rain, one lone weak twitter that seems out of place thinks today might be another paltry day with little catch. pessimism is all over, isnt it, not only among us homo sapiens? the courting, the holidaying the scores of tales that fly in the tree awake me to my own day's mission. i join the birds in their day i find not quite different from mine. i wonder whether they pray too for a good day though? i would gladly join them in their hymns.