The pigeons are here, of course, flapping down out of the roofs of S-Bahn stations, picking up crumbs of people’s breakfast croissants, and doing their absurd “Hey, baby! Hey, baby! Hey, baby” dances.
I’ve noticed that the crows sound different here. Where back home in Olympia they say, “Awk! Awk!,” here they call “Ah-yuk! Ah-yuk!” It makes perfect sense to me that crovids in Germany would speak more gutterally and use more syllables than those in the Pacific North West!
Each morning, before there’s even a hint of light on the horizon, a songbird — a thrush, perhaps? — begins to sing. Cascades of notes pour from his little throat, each ending in what sounds almost like it tiny bell ringing. He tosses out his tinkles and chortles like so many fistfuls of aural glitter. Every time I hear him, I feel profound gratitude, and I wish humans could declare their territory in a way as peaceable and gorgeous.