Nobody says "Good Morning" like a rooster does.

This morning I woke up to the manly crow of Bruce the rooster and a sunrise pouring pink and gold over the dull beige early spring pasture outside my bedroom window. It was lovely. Twilight is usually my favorite time of day, mostly for the beauty factor. One evening years ago, I was walking with Grace's dad and waxing poetic about the gorgeous sunset, and he said, "You know, there's one almost the same in the morning, too." I maintained that God provided sunrises for morning people and sunsets for people like me, who are too bleary-eyed in the morning to see past their first cup of coffee. That was before we got chickens.

There is something about a rooster crowing that adds a majestic, red carpet quality to mornings. Bruce ushers the morning in, starting somewhere around 4:00am and continuing well past the time that Gracie has been escorted to the bus at the end of the lane by my rumpled husband and the dog, who still trembles at the sight of the big yellow bus eating up her girl every morning with the mere hope that it will return to spit her out at the end of the day. A roo call invites one to peer outside, to see what all the fuss is about. Of course the sun is going to rise today, as it does every day. But there is something about a rooster crowing that makes it official. An event. Something to behold. Bruce always sound excited about the new day, as if he is surprised by it's arrival. Not being a member of the brightest species in the world, it is possible he is surprised. But it is also possible that he is just glad. And responsible to make sure everyone knows it. Maybe the crowing isn't for us at all, but for his girls. Maybe it's his morning pep talk, his directions, his hopes, his passions for what the day will hold, not just for him but for the eight hens that call him Mister.

Contrary to common perception, roosters don't just crow in the morning. They communicate a variety of messages through the act of crowing, most including some variation of the theme, "I am king of the world". Several times a week he'll show up in our front porch during the day, valiantly flap his wings, fluff his mane, thrust his chest forward, peer through the door window at me and crow for all he's worth. It makes me smile every time. Of course, all this majestic posturing usually results in Pippin the bunny getting offended and head bumping Bruce down the front steps in a flurry of feathers and tufts of fur. Apparently Pip is the king of the porch world.

Morning crowing is somehow different. It is celebratory, and it gives the day an air of expectation that comes simply from the fact that it's arrival has been announced. We were without a rooster for a while, after our last coyote visit and before a friend took pity on our roosterless-ness and gave us Bruce. I missed the morning crowing. It's funny that out of all the things this non-morning person does to try to make mornings more palatable, the one thing that actually works every time is an gleeful announcement that morning has come, from a simple creature who understands instinctively what I have to work hard to remember - that a new day is a good thing, just because it is.

Oops, gotta go. Marc left the trunk of his car open and the hens are in the car. Now, where did I put the camera...?