She woke to a strange sound on the air, insistent, steady, sure. A bird with hiccups she thought and sighed and rolled over.
She woke to a stranger sound filling the room, more insistent, demanding its cause. A bird and a squirrel were going to war in a tree. She rolled over again.
She woke to a strange sound, loud as a party where squirrel and bird became friends and they danced on the lawn.
Then she woke to her mother’s firm hand on her arm. “Sylvie. It’s time for work.”
Alarm clocks really do make for very strange dreams.