In the early light, one hears the throb of life itself: Dawn's Chorus.
                       --Rachel Carson

Fred Rogers said it best, “In this fast-paced world with constant worrisome distractions, we need more time to pause, observe, listen, wonder and claim our place in the flow of life.

A light misty halo rises from the surface of the pond where colonies of egrets and their heron cousins stand at the water’s edge quietly "wading" for breakfast to swim by.  They are oblivious to the concert about to start.

Each morning before the sun blushes the edges of the horizon with crimson layers of light, Nature clears her throat and taps her baton to awaken a rush of sights and sound, the Chorus at Dawn.  

The soloist, the Northern Cardinal, claims the center stage.  He thrusts out his chest to begin his full-throated and oft-repeated refrain.  It is clear as a bell, sweet and melodic.  Under the right conditions, his declaration of life can be heard a quarter of a mile away, pronouncing his claims for all to hear.  

Each resolute song inspires me with my own declarations.  After all, we humans come into this world claiming life in no uncertain terms.  The northern cardinal with his bright red plumage and audacious prominent crest seems to prompt a challenge directly to me: 

What do you claim? 
Can you do better?  
Bring it. 
 
Not to be undone, I lift my chin, perch my spirit on the highest branches and I take the challenge. Joining in dawn's chorus, I can claim this time and space with pronouncements of my own, not unlike the quiet confessions I make each night as I lay my head on a pillow of trust.

I claim the textures of life, the high and low notes, the lessons learned, tears and sorrows that thread together in this moment, in the fullest composition of existence.  It does not feel finite. 

I claim the Creator's hand that called me into being. Like petals released from their tight buds, my purpose slowly unfolds. 

I claim the power of love manifested in the small ordinary everyday acts we can do for each other as shown to me by the Nazarene.  

I claim gratitude for the everyday ordinary (home runs, LeLe-blown kisses, Music Makers, Mr. B winks, Lauren phone calls, birdsong, sweet neighbors, and my espresso bar!)  as well as the abundance of life.

I claim the power of words spoken, written and unvoiced in the language of the soul.

And I look down and claim this empty palm.  I own nothing. I release everything.  I am an empty vessel, ready to receive.

Then I hear the faraway cooing of a dove calling out to his mate, but it sounds more like a question posed to me. Whooo?   Whooo?  

"Who? Who? Who are you in this moment? And I know "Whoooo" I am.

There is the rustling of leaves as the lower branches of a nearby tree bend low to a higher authority.   I claim acceptance.  Not planning.  Not wishing.  No judgment.  Just the amplitude of being-ness.

And while this tired worn body dreams of rest, and the worries and woes of the world are whipped into submission, my forever spirit lifts in whispered tones of bounce and renewal.

And I wonder.  Is there such a thing as a small moment?  

Epilogue: 
Why do bird sing the sweetest songs just before sunrise? I found various reasons, one being that they need the quiet of dense morning air to allow for their concert to travel, transmitting sound to claim their territory. 

But still another theory is that birds sing at dawn to uplift, heal and glorify the world. 

You are the light of the world. Let your light shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your Father in heaven.
              – Matthew 5:14-16

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Northern Cardinal Sounds from my Merlin APP

https://merlinbirds.org/species/norcar

Do you remember this song from the 50’s? Mockingbird Hill first recorded by Les Paul and Mary Ford. Here is the Patti Page version that I sang with my mom in our kitchen. Sing along. Enjoy. Tennessee Waltz follows.

See also: The Dew of Little Things, Dawn’s Liquid Light, or The Gift of Awe, or Eyrie: High Places and Morning Flight

The Dew of Little Things: Dawn’s Liquid Light

The Gift of Awe

Eyrie: High Places

Morning Flight