It’s early, and I’m contemplating getting ready for work. Not a great fan of the early shift. The only sounds I can hear is my dog munching on his breakfast, before we go for our walk, and the singing Robin outside in the garden. Singing to tell the world he’s up and alive for another day. He’s letting anyone else who happens to be about, this is his turf. He told them last night too, as I eventually closed my eyes to drift into sleep mode. Where does he get his energy from?
The dawn chorus has been in swing for some time round here now. As me and Jim walk the empty streets, we are greeted every morning by the Robins song; further down the road, the Blackbird sits on his favourite rooftop, proclaiming his territory. Yesterday a Song Thrush was giving his loud, clear repetitive voice above the odd car that sped past on the road as we walked along the footpath.
What a great time of the year.