Bunyonyi Dawn - 6:30 AM

Lots of birds welcome me to another Bunyonyi morning.  I can visualize the grey crowned cranes I hear outside, but another 40 or 50  bird sounds that penetrate my hut remain a mystery. Speckled mousebirds, cute little firefinches, big augur buzzards, colorful bee eaters, ibis, bul buls, and glowing sunbirds flourish here -- and the morning is theirs.

Bunyonyi means "lake of many little birds" in Ruchiga, the local tongue.

The audio is freshened by raindrops on thatch, the harsh squak of several ibis (like wounded kazoos) and the world wide call to rise of roosters and their clucking consorts.

But my cozy covers cacoon me and I drift into shallow dream on this African dawn.

I eventually emerge -- and through the filigree of eucalyptus, 3 graceful white cranes swoop by as if on cue. They perch in the huge trees across the bay.

Similarly, solitary paddlers create silent wakes with their dugout canoes of cargo on the mirrored surface of the lake. A study in placidity.

A black faced bright yellow weaver bird perches on a rail 4 feet from my foot. and breaks some vital but indecipherable news to me. Baffled by my ignorance, he shakes his head and flies off.

Mousebirds with long tails and fluffy plumage, that Lynette and I labeled "squabblers", bicker in the tree to my left -- loud and insistent. 

The spell is profound ... until the sound of Saturday's first motorboat pierces my bubble of serenity. Where only two or three existed 10 years ago, now dozens of machines propel boats, simplifying transport and spoiling romantic reveries.

But soon the birds restore their sonic sovereignty ... thank god ... and new raindrops on tin roofs supplement the soundtrack ... and my dreams begin again.