Birds

The window was open and it was dawn; the birds started singing at the tops of their different voices, like a rainfall of individual conversations, a musical dew.
I lay and marvelled at the depth of sound, and the way you could hear the whole soundscape or pick out one individual bird, each with an important message to other birds of its feather. In the sound-sodden air was all the joy of being alive and the celebration of the animal spirit.
I thought about humans and speaking and singing and how we are all doing the same thing, identifying ourselves and each other with our voices and sounds.
Aha, said the other me, what about groany old Leonard Cohen?
Just a different sort of a bird, said the first me, and you can pick him out in the dawn chorus just like all the other birds.