Snuck out early this morning before breakfast.
Before the dew had departed.
Before the kids were stirring.
Before the turkey vultures were aloft.
But after the coffee had been brewed.
Heard a whistly toot from the wisteria tangle and knew that the yellow-breasted chats were recycling for brood #2.
So I made for the oil road, gingerly stepping around the poison ivy in my Tevas, watching for sunning snakes as I walked, and set up in a concealed position near Mr. Chat's favored singing venue.
He whistled.
I whistled.
He gave a raspy scold.
I did too.
He popped out into the open.
I digiscoped him while he performed.
My morning chat was complete. It was a fine way to start the day.
I love you.
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