October is always my favorite time of the year here in Suburban Arizona, yet Fall has neglected to materialize. Afternoon temperatures were still around 43°C and broiling us natives. To get my daily steps in, I was forced to rise up at the crack of dawn. So, this morning I was up and active well before dawn to explore the local Riparian Preserve.

---

My diligence in getting my daily steps in had an unplanned advantage. I witnessed the desert rendition of the glorious morning chorus. The rising sun blessed this charming desert oasis near where I lived.

I quickly whipped out my phone. I then captured the joyous cacophony. These were the unique sounds of our little desert corner of the aviator world.

---

---

The experience reminded me of my blogging partner, Neville Jacob. He had recorded the morning chorus and immortalized it on YouTube. This capture would have been 8000 km away in Kings Somborne, Hampshire. Visiting Neville last year, I had been to this picturesque spot, though at a much less challenging time of day.

---

---

To me there is a great joy in being capable of watching this joyous symphony of avian musicians. It is humbling to realize that as the earth spins, this chorus is playing somewhere. This thought is very warm and comforting.

---

The combination of Neville’s video and my captured sound bytes inspired me. I decided to try a few words of verse. I hoped to capture my immediate thoughts. Please humor me in this effort.

---

Morning Chorus – Desert Trail

While my soul shadows where dawn breaks anew.
When the chorus sings, and joyful symphony’s spun,
My riparian reflection whispers—I’m no longer young.

Shock! Again, when my face I see,
The aged gent staring back at me.
No longer the youth with wide, eager ears—
Now I tell the tales that stretch my years.

I join this ageless dance,
A cycle as old as the sun’s first glance.
I walk these trails with denial bold,
My boots tread past dreams untold.

Not among ruins, but where streams still babble,
Adventures ahead, no time for gravel.
No regrets in the chorus begun,
Only the warmth of the morning sun.

No folksy tunes—just fowl’s joyous calls,
Mocking youth in dawn’s soft thralls.
My wrinkles fade in the light’s first glow,
And creaky joints? Well, they don’t show!

A passing hiker makes me stand tall,
Shoulders squared—I dare not stumble or fall.
They see one old man, but I refuse to know,
For deep inside, youth still hums below.

Shh! Don’t dispel my spirited dance,
Let me bask in dawn’s first glance.
With morning’s glow, I carve my trail.

The wren’s chatter breaks the quiet air,
Verdin’s chirps flit without a care.
A thrasher’s call, sharp and sweet,
Joins the quail’s song with rhythmic beat.

This trail stretches on, all but endless,
While the plumed choir greets the breaking sun,
Much like the gleeful chorus that cheered

the first and every dawn.

---

Cheers, nca