Something about this minute, something about this hour

[trillador]

It's quarter past one in the morning, and all the birds are singing. Lots of calls I haven't heard before. Apparently it's too loud here in the city for them to hear each other during the day, so they do all their communication at night. For a small-town person, this is disorienting. I hear some of the familiar diurnal calls and think, "well, it's time to get up," but no, it's just after midnight.

Maybe I'll go walking.