The half moon is high and still bright, but Venus is the last star shining as the sky turns pale. Several crows fly over, singly, each cawing a few times as it passes. The last of them wakes the first jay, which then squawks the other birds awake. The light has a lavender hue which complements the clump of pink roses still uneaten by the deer. A car turns onto the street. Someone is delivering newspapers. The gray bundles smack the asphalt driveways, slide, and skid to a stop. They are full of nothing I care to know in this quiet moment. I am watching the living trees emerge from night's shroud, their leaves and needles already gleaming slightly with anticipated sunlight.