We live near a tree farm
that birds love.
Transplanted small trees
around our home
are now large,
and at first light, noisy.

Springtime is the loudest.
Breeding has begun.
The travelers have returned:
finches, swallows, robins,
hummers, whippoorwills.

Our dead end rural road
has little traffic even later
in the day–none at 5 am in May.
No sound but bird song:
Coos, chirps, whistles,
call and response.

The choir has no conductor
that we see.

– Steve Shoemaker, Urbana, IL, May 9, 2013