Waking up before dawn, waiting for the first birdsong. Exquisitely melodious as it echoes in the deep nocturnal silence that is becoming tainted with shades of blue and white. As the light and noise thicken and as the day begins to wake, the silence is eroded and the melody loses in its ring and quality though it continues further on until the day is fully roused. Nothing, for me, beats the magic and poetry of these wonderful beginnings. Now, on the edge of winter, I wait for spring and summer when the melodious song can be accompanied by the hum of crickets, a soft wind breeze, and the stars as they slowly disappear from the whitening sky. I will always wait for the first birdsong at dawn.