As I look around my neighborhood, it is plain. There is a service station across the road, a real estate agent next door, and flats on the other side. They have a pile of boxes needing recycling. I do not know what is going on for the people inside these walls: the people’s stories, their lives. I can smell the smoke of someone who lit up a cigarette, but I do not know if there is some burning issue in that life.
When I turn on the television news, I get a glimpse of what is happening inside the lives of others. It is not a real look, though, but I get an idea. There is injustice and violence and the messages coming through the images can bring up someone’s own issue, such as mistreatment of the innocent and injustice. A bit like the images I saw some day. But there is always the bird chirping, ‘singing’, in the early morning, alive and with life to offer. One hears its call.