morning time, sunshine the tree bird sing sing tweet tweet the light, cautiously, through the treetop and the leaves the fluttering noise to match the birds, the watery air not watery just thickened by the nighttime and dewdrops little tears of joy from the brightness of it all

I didn't mean to make a noise. I had heard, somewhere, you make a noise when you want something from someone. I guess I wanted something.

twilight time, dark things that recede, secrets of course, always the every night new secrets to hide, the secret bird nest, hummingbird nest, not humming to stay so secret, eggs like peas but not green, owl hoots in the tree, he asks: who? who? who? and the moon is behind a cloud

make a noise? why would I ever make a noise?

The first moment of clarity (bygone notion, useless really) happened here, on the porch of a friend's house, on the 15th of July, bright sunny afternoon, the kind you remember from childhood (but this isn't childhood, this is Today, the Present (Now it's the Past)), when some birds were cautiously eyeing us from the branches of a pitiful little apple tree whose apples nobody ever harvested. I think they want some bird seed, you said, and pointed to the bird feeder, right next to us, inside our danger zone. I guess you wanted to go inside, or at least away from the porch, maybe for the birds' sake but probably not. Okay, I said, and the screen door creaked open, and we went into the house and sat backwards on the couch to look out the big picture window at the place we just were.

Yes, literally a moment of clarity. What did you think I meant? We sat there and looked through the glass, the glass was totally clear like it wasn't there at all, no sources of light in the room to reflect off our side. The birds didn't have that luxury - to them the glass was incomprehensible in a different sense, masked by a reflection, of the deck and the apple tree and the other birds that always seemed to be here by the bird feeder whenever they arrived.