Clear Skies and Cloudy. 



first faint streak of light in the east, it will be 

 detected by this bird, and the approach of day 

 announced in no uncertain tones. The wrens 

 that are nesting near my window are first to 

 hear the news, and, with no further toilet than a 

 wing-shake and a comfortable yawn, repeat it 

 from corner to corner of the house, until I am 

 in no doubt as to the approximate time of day. 

 Then, one by one, the goodly list of birds about 

 us take up the cry, and not a nook or corner of 

 the farm but rings with the tidings that the day 

 is breaking. Why should I not be astir? If 

 the world now is fit for every bird that flies, I 

 will trust to not being out of place. Whether 

 poison or not, I daily risk the morning air for 

 the sake of the morning's music. Breakfast 

 over, I am ready, while yet there is but a broad 

 band of gilded cloud in the east, to take my 

 stand under the old oaks and listen. The leaves 

 still dripping with dew, the meadows hidden by 

 low-lying mist, the noonday world as a sealed 

 book, but music steals from it, and it is for this 

 I came. All the world knows our wood-thiush. 

 and has gone ecstatic over it, so let us pass it by 

 with brief mention. Its melody fills the air 



