The busy sound of the birds outside, matched by the loud chittering of my daughter’s parakeets upstairs, wakes me. I open my eyes and notice the fingers of light slipping into my room, pulling at the edges of the blinds on the windows. I turn over, look at the clock, and groan. It’s not even 5 a.m. Some mornings I can’t fight it. I bury my face in the pillow. Chances are, I only got into bed a few hours before, seduced by the long day into staying up too late, dawdling, eating a late supper, watering plants on the patio and watching the cats play outside at twilight, walking the dogs as the moon rose. Chances are I wrote too late into the night, or put in a movie when I should have called it a day. I might have spent too much time at the computer answering e-mails or shopping online.