Definitely birds, definitely singing. The time 6:30 in the morning in the new time. The twitterers were high up on the crossbar of a pole next to Hyde Park Avenue. Each passing vehicle drowned out the disorderly chirping and tweeting, but it was clear enough to record, not as entrancing as the Scottish songbirds in their sunlit hedges, but uplifting anyway--
as was the musical work session of two of my colleagues yesterday. Recently performing together and separately on video and open mike nights, they've started singing and playing their songs--Dylan, Sinatra--with new seriousness. I could see that in the way they, shoulder to shoulder, studied chords on a keyboard displayed on a computer.
Birds don't work out arrangements as I saw my workmates diligently doing, but the end of each is the same: a performance of sculpted air. Busy morning city street, Quincy big band nightclub--the need to send song through the ready and receptive air is compelling.
The public words around me full of anguish or anger; these winged warblings and words have a levitation that I so welcome.
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