The fountain in the back yard is heard but not seen from the porch of our room in the B & B. I look where I hear it, and see only black vegetation in the pre-dawn chill. So I sit and listen. Squirrels scrabble in a big old tree, Then they are on the ground, so the leaves loudly tell me. Wind chimes announce a breeze The fountain is still speaking, Rewarding the careful listener. Gradually The light grows; A chorus of crows greets the new day. The two squirrels chase each other into the next yard. The city slowly awakens. A small tree emerges, Between the back yard fence and the flagstones in the yard The sun is not quite risen but in the dawn, alongside the tree, the fountain is revealed.