Sweet birdsong flutters through the clear and crisp air, shattering the morning peace. An unrehearsed symphony heralding the day with its joyless melody.
The glass of the bedroom window and the thick, lined curtains are no match for its piercing, deafening cry. Like a hot knife though soft melting butter, there is only ever going to be one victor.
It is white noise, a cacophony of sound, nothing more than an irritant. Every morning, every damn morning. It’s a part of life, like breathing, eating, suppressing wind, the quest for love or even the fearful headaches that have overtaken life.