THE MAGIC AIR

Was wakened at around 6 today by the first true dawn chorus of the year. (Either the birds notice the temperature rise, or I've slept through the others.) In my first job, one of my colleagues used to tell me how she'd always throw open the window to take it in and I do this sometimes as well when I can muster up the energy to stumble over to the window.

The deep blue morning is alive with bright chirrups and bleeps, and shrill "loops" that sound almost electronic; some short and insistent, others coded in a more involved way. I always try to track these longer messages; some are clearly variations on a theme, but with no exact repetitions.There's very little sense of space - it sounds as if all the little choristers are sitting on the window sill. Like a blind person might, I try to imagine the series of points where each little voice comes from.