I don’t understand the language of birds, but I can sense the easy merriment from birdsong. What they mean to convey to me must be their ecstasies, but it is not in my power to make a reply. With a wave of my hand the birds fly away. My words can not make them stay and they leave me a silent garden. However. I know that they will go on a return trip after a while. Now I feel like I’m the only creature in this garden. I sit at my desk and lower my head to write, with nothing to bring about any disturbance so that I could concentrate all my mind on the paper.