Birdsong

One day I was feeling grumpy as I left the house, then I noticed birdsong and felt ok again. Now I make a point of listening out for it everywhere I go and as a result the world is full of birdsong.

One evening I was walking home from work. It was dark, misty and muffled. Earily silent. No matter how much I strained, I couldn’t hear any birdsong. I saw a beautiful tabby cat perched on a neighbour’s fence and wondered why I couldn’t hear any birds. Were they hiding? Do birds do that? I would generally expect to hear at least one warning cry from a sentry, alerting other birds in the vicinty of a dangerous presence. Maybe something to do with the mist, I guessed.

It was fine though. Intriguing rather than bothersome, because I knew that even if I couldn’t hear the birds in that moment, they were out there somewhere and sooner or later I’d hear them again. I reckoned I’d appreciate them even more next time I heard them, and felt some excitement in anticipation of that moment. Excitement that fuelled my enthusiasm to warmly embrace my family when I stepped back into my home.

Next morning I woke early with the dawn and a glorious firework display of chirps, calls, responses and arpegios delighted my ears all the way into the core of my soul. I couldn’t wait to start what might possibly turn out to be the best day of my life. I decided to savour that moment, and look forward to savouring other similarly joyous moments as I journey on through time.

Birdsong is my thing.

Other sensory perceptions and experiences might be your thing.

There’s another word for birdsong and any of those things.

It’s hope.

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