Mellifluous my eye. There was nothing mellifluous about the inane twittering and chirping that broke out at four o'clock this morning just when the Monica Seles/Kim Clijsters fantasy was starting to dissolve into something resembling sleep. With the possible exception of crow calls, it's difficult to capture bird-song verbatim but the gist of it went something like this:
“Any chicky-babes, out there for a hot stud with his own tree?”
“Shut up loser! Over here babes! The tree's not the only thing that's bigger over here!”
“Who're you calling 'loser'? You don't watch it, I'll come over and give you a face full of beak, shit-head!”
“Go on, try it. I'll rip your hackles out and shove them where the sun doesn't shine.”
“You and whose convocation?”
And so it went. Isn't nature faaaarkin' wonderful?