The redbirds chit as they chase overhead— dun-blush girl, blazoned boy. I was up before they were, scuffling by a harvestman legging his way (home? to hide?) and listening to my breath. A jay, a jay yells and drops a feather at my feet, then laughs: “Made you look!” To begin under an ink-stained moon as crickets and peepers shimmer, to end sweat-soaked, breathless in gold light? Dayenu, surfeit of joy.