THEATRE OF SONG
The dawn chorus is a thing of beauty, as one man’s early-morning experience testifies
ACH STEP IS a challenge, as I clumsily slip and slide over the muddied ground on the well-trodden path down to the woods. Bleary-eyed I look to my wrist and the watch reads 04.37. Stars still twinkle in the indigo sky above. It is cool, fresh and mist hangs in the air. Stillness surrounds me as I perch on the gnarled stump of a once mighty oak. My binoculars hang loosely around my neck as I sit alone listening, really listening, waiting for it to begin.