Have you ever stood outside just before dawn? If you stay quiet you can recognize it. The gradual waking of the world.
There's a heightened end to the night bugs chorus, the feathered ones are only just starting to sing. You can actually hear the moths lift off to find solace from the heat of day, their wings fanning past your cheek, 'hurry," they call, "it will soon rise again."
The shift between seasons is even more subtle than those minutes before sunrise. It's a miniscule change in the air, a note or two's difference in the tree frogs song.
The birds are quieter. Even the rooster knows it's not yet time to crow. "Hush now children," the earth seems to be saying, "time to slow your summer scramble, to muffle the worries of plans you think must be fullfilled while the sun stays high and long in the sky. The things left undone will simply have to stay that way," is the advice of mother nature, "for fall is coming and it's time to rest."
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