In the first light when birds stir I begin a poem in praise of myself. Their singing provides extra bravado which is quite necessary to tell of how it is to be sweetly alive. This morning its an aria, some stubborn solo voice down by Dirty Woman Creek refusing to be a team player. He(?) sings and I grow quiet as sleep remembering the three days when my children were born, when parents and dear friends gathered at the glass so proud. This is why, if possible, you greet the dawn for God loves to remind you of your greatness before the world wakes with cages on its mind.