THE SONG OF SONGS
Megan flung her bedroom window open and glared down into her plum tree. A blackbird had taken up residence in her small Edinburgh garden and seemed intent on waking her.
‘Shooo!’ Megan waved her arms at the bird. But this morning, as always, the bird tore across her garden with a startled chak-chak! only to reappear in her tree, minutes later, and continue the carry-on.
‘HE SOUNDS LIKE A REVERSING LORRY’
Megan loved birdsong, but this was no warble or twitter. The first time she’d heard it, she’d thought it was an ambulance. She’d turned over in bed and waited for it to pass, given up, then got up and peered out of the window. A street light had revealed the bird in her tree’s branches, its beak open wide, its throat vibrating. It had taken Megan some time to realise this was the source of the noise.
‘It’s driving me mad, Kath! Listen!’ Megan
