Outside in the cold morning air, the birds are still sleeping, the squirrels arriving at the birdseed table to converse while having breakfast, their small furred hands cupped together, lifting and holding seeds and nuts and berries.
Slowly, the zillion Sparrows awaken, along with the Titmouse and Cardinals and Doves and Downy Woodpeckers and Flicker and Chickadees and Juncos, all part of family lineages, that stretch back before our time.
So I sit with my cup of warm miso, by the living room window, watching, as the skies lighten and the cats chip chip at the birds and the day we are given opens up to all things.
The day we have been given
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