I saw a robin sitting on a wire chirping on my morning walk.  A Robin has a nice range of cheerful tweets, but I prefer the twittering of a finch.  The jogger’s quick steps are a part of spring’s morning concerto when I walk my dog.  It’s a riot.  The woodpeckers bang away a timed percussion while the Cardinals raise three squeals on a horn that is heard above the riotous symphony.

I once thought the ‘who’ of the morning dove was an owl.  One day I looked up the pigeon variety I frequently see and discovered the Mourning Dove or Turtledove.

“Just like a white winged dove, sings a song, sounds like she’s singing, “Who! Who! Who!”

When I practice piano, I think about birds practicing their songs.  They compete for the clearest and most eloquent sound.  I have to memorize a song before I can play it, just like the bird.  Then I practice my little song.  It’s important to do my small piece in the orchestra and do it well.

Crows may caw in the day, ravens may screech at night, but I prefer the morning song. Everyone has a song.

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