A Mostly True Story

There was a bird sang all night long to spell away the darkness. A plain brown bird she was, and small, insignificant some would say, but her voice was something silvern and most beautiful. The voice from her would set the stars to shining keener and the moon to shake off its dust and glow mightily.
One night I listened to her singing all the way til dawn. When the morning came she went to sleep and the mighty chorus of all the other songbirds and crows and geese and ducks would take over, becoming the living sheet music behind daily life, ordering the day into segments.