Its still dark but in the twilight loom a cackle starts slowly clearing its throat somewhere outside the open window.
I lay still, in between worlds trying to hold on to the peace of velvet sleep.
Surrendered to high night heat, my naked sweaty skin uncovered, hopelessly longs for cool.
I hear the scamper of tiny sticky footed night walkers cross the the ceiling above my head as the cackle lifts, a head thrown back, a full bellied screech let rip towards faintly lighting skies out east.
The laughing bird beckons the sun to rise soon. Goading. Trumpeting permission for the rest to join in. A squawk, a thrill staccato drill. The cacophony builds, penetrating the walls, the dream state gone for now. Ear drums pierced.
“We are alive” they shout in an urgent call to rise, NOW. You must greet the sun they screech, croak, caw and cluck. Echoing around my neighbourhood no-one is spared.
Beats from large spanned wings drum the stagnant, still, fading night air.
I wipe the sweat off my face with a damp sheet.
Oh for the polite, kind tweets and harmonies of a home dawn just before the sun is about to break over the horizon. The light already strong in the sky. The gentle hesitant chirpy chips and crooning hollow whispers. An encouragement to linger to evenly and pensively contemplate the day ahead under the weight of a heavy warm cocooning duvet.