MATTHEW DICKERSON The sun had risen, though it wasn’t yet visible over the ridgeline east of our house. As I often do, I took my coffee out on our deck to listen to the birdsong for a few minutes before sitting down to read. I heard several of the usual suspects I hear every morning: cardinal, gray catbird, vireo, veery, phoebe, wood thrush and somewhere a little farther off a pewee. Beautiful, but nothing surprising. Only a minute or two later,…