THE FIRST BIRD

High on my list of favorite things is the call of the first bird of the morning. One bird sings in the distance and then another a little closer and then the forest is a cacophany of song. It stirs the depths of my being like a prehistoric force answering to the first alarm clock - the bird. Usually I don't hear it because my body doesn't seem to subscribe to the prehistoric force; it likes to sleep later, but occasionally I arise early and hear that sweet first bird call and love every single note it sings.
We live in the last swath of old growth forest on the West Side of Portland, Oregon that is privately owned by individuals. If one were to look at a satellite view of our home you could see the shining green swath looking like a huge punctuation mark on the map. All of the other green spaces are owned by corporations or the city. These are the only homes left that have towering trees above them and small creeks running below. These are the homes untouched by massive developers that devoid the land of trees, those precious oxygen rich beings that keep us breathing. Most of us aren't even aware that it is the trees that give us most of our oxygen. Lawns: they just look pretty and contribute to global warming with big lawn mowers and exhaust, plus they contribute to pollution with chemicals to keep them looking glowing, as well as use up water resources. Trees: they survive on their own, give shade, and allow the ferns to grow beneath them. For fertilizer they drop their leaves every year and let the slugs and bugs grind them up to be used again in a never ending process. The birds like the setting. It is beautiful and it has been my most honored privilege to live here for the last twelve years. Keep on singing first bird...