Tiny birds spring from the flimsy branches of a hedge and hop across the stones. They chirp and chat and laugh and pluck small berries from the bush, not still even for a second. They hide under cars and perch on windowsills - charming the elderly with their colourful feathers and round bellies.
The warm summer evening has turned into a cool morning and so I roll over, kicking the covers back over my legs.
The blackbirds in the garden peck at yesterday's bagels. Their feet and beaks are the colour of tangerines, which stick out from their jet black feathers and small beady eyes. Silently, they enjoy their breakfast, then return to the safety of the phone line before the cats wake up.
Now I can feel the sunlight that peeks around the blinds against my cheeks; warm but malicious and biting. I pull the duvet over my face.
Pigeons watch the rest of the birds from their thrones atop the chimneys; they build their nests perfectly round so they fit snugly in the holes. The blackbirds stay away from them but the robins and blue tits cackle at their lack of agility - their stubby legs can barely support their plump bodies and plethora of feathers. I think they're kind of cute. Every now and then they coo to their friends sitting in our cherry tree.
No need to check the clock, I know what time it is.
My eyes are still shut.
On my way to school, a sparrow chases it's tiny friends around the houses. He swoops right in front of my feet and I nearly trip over. I don't have to look up to know the pigeons are laughing at me.