On the other side of the windows this morning is drifting fog and a row of skeletal trees doing their best to put out leaves, catkins and flowers. This is turning out to be a late springtime, and they have a way to go.
The air is warmer than the earth below it, and the meeting of the two makes everything translucent and magical. Somewhere in the early morning haze is a robin calling for rain, a woodpecker (probably a pileated from the volume of the hammering) driving its beak into one of the old maples. Now and again, he (or possibly she) pauses, takes a few deep breaths and gives a wild unfettered laugh that carries for quite a distance in the murk. Even a bird in the fog, it seems, knows the value of taking a break from its work now and again, just breathing in and out for a minute or two and giving voice to a cackle of amusement.
I can't see either robin or woodpecker for the mist wrapping everything, but the sounds they are making are welcome musical elements in a springtime morning that is all about the nebulous, the wondrous and unseen.