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The thing I find most memorable in my mornings are sounds of birds chirping. More often than not, it means the sun is coming out and brings with it the promise of the day. I know that birds chirping are a recurrent motifs among writers and poets that cast their eyes on nature. But I never really appreciated as a wonderful quirk of the way things are until I made an effort to conduct my mornings sans music or podcasts.

When I hear the birds chirp under the bask of the rising sun, I feel an infinite sense of bliss. Somehow, I know that my day is going to be a good one. It gifts me a lot of hope and promise (don’t ask me why, I have tried to dig deeper on why I think that but so far it is all dead ends).

When I notice the chirping, I am reminded that the world is alive outside of the little cocoon I call home smack-bang in suburbia. I like to imagine what they are getting up to: chatting, dancing, foraging, and flying. They live out their lives with a freedom that not many people will ever able to empathise with. It expands my awareness outside of the little thing I happen to be doing in the moment. Sometimes I liken the feeling to what I imagine tapping in to some universal consciousness feels like.

These feelings feel more visceral when I see them flitting about on my morning runs. More often than not, they will have worm dangling from their beaks and be looking my way with curiousity. Every so often, I will run past a group of them just hanging out and sometimes I just want to stop and watch them. I know I see them everyday, but it is one thing to see, and another to notice. I make an effort to notice them now, it makes the run more enjoyable.


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