a word for the way the new light hits

how the day begins: 
ears and body, tawny colored,
that i glimpse moving through the part-sun, part-shade all-green woods
out the north facing window
that i think is a bobcat
but, as it moves into the tiniest clearing i can see
is a fawn
what is a word for the way the new light hits its young ears
up and alert?
how the day also begins:
gray bird landing on the mottled bark of a persimmon tree
just outside the north-facing window
how i guess catbird and then it makes its squeaky whiny call, yes, cat bird
and the day also starts this way: 
mama cat following me up the path
that i walk every morning (and that she follows me on every morning) 
towards the whitehouse
past the fluffs of fur from the gibbous/mama cat fight 
from yesterday evening

that sortof tropical sounding bird cynthia says as we listen for its call
of the pileated woodpeckers that have arrived
as we stand in south garden
along the brassicas – whose collard leaves and kale leaves we are about to harvest
on the dinner menu
which i prepare soundtracked by cocorosie and bon iver (both of which are so very many years ago
but it’s been a while) : 
tepary bean/quinoa salad with peas and spinach
massaged kaleslaw
toasted/seasoned pumpkin and sunflower seeds
a dutch baby and a dutch baby baby 
with sliced strawberries to scatter on top
in celebration of the big news

i’ve never been called big sister i say
to glow who just appreciated my big sisterhood
i’ve been the youngest all me life
in our latest episode  i joke with mom and dad
who are following my life
like a soap opera as it unravels
like a soap opera but whose life
the cool air breezing in the open windows
perfect in temperature (mid 60s to low 70s)
and windy enough that i can later sit on the porch
mama cat in my lap purring as if she was never feral
without being bothered by a single mosquito