Every evening when I return home from work, I’m greeted by the chirping of birds as they congregate in the tree outside my window. While the husband calls it a cacophony, I think of it as a council. What must they be discussing, I wonder?
The state of the weather? The shrinking green cover? The paucity of food? Or maybe they’re discussing the changing weather patterns, or the latest thermal waves they rode. Perhaps they’re trading the gossip of the day, or having a friendly spat?
