In the pre-dawn I was awakened by a snort from the young buck that's been haunting the yard. But I lay in bed for a moment listening, because a whip-poor-will was calling out from the woods.
whip-poor-will -- whip-poor-will -- whip-poor-will -- whip-poor-will -- whip-poor-will
It's a call I haven't heard since dimly-remembered childhood. I put on sandals and walked into the wet grass glancing up to see if the great perigee moon was still out. It wasn't, and there was no sign of the deer either. It might have been watching me from the shadows. The bird continued its clear, insistent call.
I walked to the edge of my garden and peed in the tall grass - as an affront to the buck - then walked back inside and crept into bed. I listened. The whip-poor-will eventually fell silent and there was a time of silence before the dawn chorus began.