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The chirps came in bursts, bringing a small smile to Hank's face. The birds were calling to one another in that beautiful way they do, the songs coming from different trees along the avenue. If their music were visible it would be petals falling like rain, every shade of the spring flowers, a kaleidoscope for the soul.

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Chirps rippled through the cool barely-lit pines. From those first few notes burst so many more, as if the birds had collectively been waiting for the first to call into the dawn.

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Charlotte walked to the park, canvas shoes quiet over the cracked concrete, the grass verge greyish under the new light of the day. Chirps from the treetops gently pushed the sluggishness from her mind, her thoughts beginning to dance to the melody.

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The chirps were as bright as the nascent leaves and as fresh as the falling rain. Ivan tilted his head toward the first rays of the day, breathing in the morning, absorbing the promise of a new day.

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The chirps came in a repeated refrain, clustered, exact in their pattern and yet still so free. Though Zoe could see the bird, she knew it must be small just from the sound. She pictured it, tiny and brown with a round chest, singing from some branch way up in the pines.

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The treetop chirps were from many kinds of bird, each of their songs coming together to make the dawn chorus as rich as any symphony.

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In all the books I read the birds chirp in melodious choruses, they welcome the daybreak with a song befitting of angels, a song that rings with the joy of the new dawn. But the bird that sits on my window ledge does not sound like that. It sounds like a child's toy in which the speaker is broken or perhaps the batteries are running out of juice. Every morning it awakes me singing at the top of it's voice with it's out-of-tune racket and every morning I dream of shooting it and making a little pie. I think I'll call it chirp pie and put the recipe on the internet.

By ravinder, October 16, 2013.
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I'll be part way through some complicated algebra when the familiar chirp comes from my window ledge. It's a bright, cheerful, hopeful sound that I just can't ignore. My feathered friend has arrived right on cue, right after my run for late night study junk. He's such a small bird, I have no idea what he is. My brain is too full of equations and laws. This little fella just loves me for my fries, but I can't hold that against him. It's probably the most interesting thing about me now that the finals are so close.