Early morning. Spotted the burning orange over the easterly horizon. Reflecting on memories of my youth and seizing seasons. The morning is odd; spring and early summer had crazy festoons of cyclical shouting birds and season micro cycles. I've just had the pleasure of enjoying three or five weeks of humidity, crazy weather and pesterly mosquitoes. Of course it could be worse, namely, in other areas of the country and world. The morning was odd, anyway, because quiet. Just the hum of the crickets. I thought it lonely so I imitated the chickadee and what's that other bird's name, well, no matter, and I started getting replies faint in the canopy. Hey, if [tv] hunters can call over bull moose and mating season deer, well, I can mess with the birds. My height in the canopy helps. I got some response. Some non-related (other species) bird calls, some bird calls of the species and a few crows. That's the spirit! I remember hearing a chickadee call earlier Saturday. We've had some construction of the neighbor and these guys always doing their yard work. Alright, we know you finished your yard work already and just don't have anything better to do! So some bird species were scared away.
Some of these birds, doubtless, enjoy a vast stretch of canopy, they are fortunate to have access to more real estate perhaps than I do. Depending on the analogies of ownership and public use and license and all that and demarcations of public and private and notions of freedom.
So yep, I like to think, I was the first bird voice this morning, I got the whole community going on this day.