It’s 9 AM.
Look closely at the top left to see her ( a tiny speck) perching on the highest point on the hill.
It’s a daily habit. She rises early and if the morning seems perfect, no wind, no rain, she stands, chest puffed up, opens her throat and sings her song. She has quite a few phrases, repeats each one couple of times, pauses, and then moves on to the next one.
It’s her spot, on top of the highest piece of gorse, on the highest peak of the hill. She rarely visits the garden, territory of Blackbird and Great Tit. But sometimes I get lucky.
It’s true that a Thrush is a common enough bird, and that I’m a common enough human. But there are times like this, when even the most insignificant of us has a moment of divine splendour. And in spite of every damn thing, we praise the day.