At one point I had to get up before daybreak, regularly.
I'm not really an early bird and during the winter season getting up at 3 am was horrible.
But as soon as spring was at the helm it certainly had a very special charm. Though I live in a city, I was enchanted every time I heard the deafening concert of hundreds of birds when the sun was about to rise at a moment everybody is sound asleep. Their music inevitably made me happy.
I can't help thinking that their noise is a way to talk. I imagine the birds telling each other all they know, including the little secrets of ourselves below. Strange enough this urge to communicate is never tainted by sadness. It is always uplifting to hear them as if sorrow and pain don't exist in a bird's life.
It is sheer magic to hear a nightingale's song, late in the evening, when the streets in my hiding place are empty and people gather behind the flickering screen to watch the news or a movie. As if the bird mocks us all and reminds us of what life really is all about.
A nightingale. Wouldn't it be wonderful to be one?