One of the joys of starting work at four thirty in the morning is the sounds of Spring. Dark it may be, with the stars, and occasional planet, shining brightly above. Chilly often, made worse by winds trying to keep the winter temperature going, yet the sounds are joyful. The trees resound to the early bird telling all and sundry that they are alive, and this is their home.
The sound of a Blackbird early in the morning is a wonderful tonic to one who has a long weary slog ahead of ageing tired bones. One by one the birds call out. The trees by the Police Compound harbour many, mostly Blackbirds, with a variety of other species hang around the houses and gardens opposite.
The noise lifts as I pass, not that they notice me, but as one starts further beaks are opened and an announcement of their presence is made. None can be seen of course. Too dark to make out the nest. Still bare trees ought to make them known, but the early hour, an unsteady bicycle, and a weary eye make finding them difficult.
However, seen or not, they make the morning. I am glad of them
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