“I hear a symphony”

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I awoke to an unexpectedly spectacular symphony.
Before the backyard fountain began its daily gurgle, 
the dawning sky filled with bird song.
This orchestra wasn’t warming up, 
it was already in full swing:
squawks and squeaks and screeches
            chips and chirps and peeps
                        cries and caws and crows
whistles and whinnies
                                    clicks and quacks and clucks
                    hoots and hollers
tweets and twitters
                        shrieks and chatter
 
Standing on my podium, I mean porch, 
I was not remotely the conductor,
visualizing the various, invisible singers. 
I’ve seen hummingbirds, blue jays, and recognized mourning doves, 
now an entire chorus was out in full force.
nothing to do with me, 
merely a well-placed audience member, appreciating every note, 
marveling at the rich blend of melodies, harmonies, calls-and-responses, 
with nary a hint of cacophony, 
until slowly the trilling trailed off, 
dissipating into sunrise stillness.
 
Coda: my neighbor now informs me that my imagined chorus was merely a mockingbird. 
Does that make the morning symphony less, or more, remarkable?

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