Another warm and gloomy Coffee Muses.

A mourning dove has decided to join the morning chorus.

The disc of the sun is sometimes visible, sometimes not, through the rising clouds that were once heavy fog.

There’s a blue jay announcing itself in my woods. A blue jay’s call doesn’t match it’s handsome good looks. The squeaky gate sound isn’t too bad in the singular, but in the plural… it’s like someone let the toddlers into an orchestra practice room with the instruments out.

A woodpecker’s harsh call cuts the background birdsong symphony. He’s searching for a tree to play percussion on. The symphony itself is composed mostly of northern cardinals, of which, we have an abundance of year round.

Now we are being serenaded by the neighborhood rooster. Make that roosters, he’s been joined from across the bayou. These guys seem to be confused by the lack of a sunrise, or maybe they are just suburban chickens and don’t salute the sun up.

Since it’s Sunday, I’m on breakfast duty so I’d better get moving…