I awaken before sunrise.
The loon calls.
Light streaks the clouds.
A young sparrow lands on the porch and hops about, curious, nervy, but not really afraid.
Juncos have eaten all of the ants that were infesting the porch beams.
Gulls cry out; the young whine.
Last night as the moon was rising, coyote pups began yipping and yowling; it sounded as if they were racing through the woods at the back of the pond. Bathsheba was jumpy; they'd been pursuing something. Dante, the cat, was still out, hiding out, but at around midnight she let me pluck her from her usual perch near the mailbox. I kissed her and kissed her and kissed her and she slept at my side all night.
Here comes the sun, casting orange light into the shallows.
I wonder now if I can go back to sleep.
Grey water, pinkish light.
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