Early Morning Birdsong

Not What You're Expecting

The bird outside my window for the past week has been waking me up well before 5 am. I would shut the window, but I love fresh air, and living in New England, I can only keep my window open for four or five months a year. I have weighed the options: air conditioned air, more sleep; fresh air, less sleep; and to be honest, it’s damn close, but fresh air wins out.

That said, the bird does not have a very attractive song. It’s not quite as loud as a crow but along the same harsh and repetitive lines, not at all tuneful, just blatantly attention-seeking. I can only take ten minutes or so of it before I am compelled to escape to the kitchen to start the coffee.

Once there, I enjoy having the extra hour to write. It’s quiet in the house, and cool. I like the hum of the refrigerator. There’s also an assortment of birds down at the kitchen end of the house that are way more melodious.

Now that I’m up, with one and a half cups of coffee under my belt and the dishes in the dish drainer put away, I’m thinking that bird is doing me a favor. It’s not just waking me from a sound sleep by making a racket so profoundly annoying that I am forced out of bed; it is allowing me this sweet space of solitude and creativity that I otherwise would have slept through. I forgive myself the fantasy I entertained upon waking at 4:30 (I mean, where would I even get a poison dart-blower?) and thank that bird from the bottom of my heart for being such a fucking pain in the ass.