These days, while enjoying my last days of vacation, sitting in the garden of my house, I heard a strange sound coming from one of the power lines. I lifted my head and saw how a bird had made its nest at the top of the cement column. I must say with regret, that in nearby houses there are no tall trees, so I sense that this is the reason why the bird made its home in such an unusual place. At that moment I valued the presence of nature, in that noisy area, because cities are more and more made for cars and not for living beings.

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You have to have a very desolate soul so as not to be moved by the song of a bird, so I began to reflect on the existence of them among us. They circulate among people at high speeds, their roar or their singing are part of our mornings and afternoons, when we see how the birds look for a shelter to reproduce and rest. They pluck someone's hair to use in their nests, peck at the green branches or the cement in the squares looking for bugs to feed them. Torditos, parrots, hummingbirds, canaries fly and chirp happily among the smog cloud, without realizing the adverse environment in which they find themselves. Nature continues to work, despite ourselves.

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There is a poem that I adore and that is by one of the best Venezuelan writers of all time, the laureate Eugenio Montejo, entitled La terredad de un pájaro. This is one of the author's best-known poems and I would like to share it with you:

The terredad of a bird is its song,
what in his chest returns to the world
with the echoes of an invisible choir
from an already dead forest.

Its terredad is the dream of meeting
in the absent,
to repeat to the end the melody
as long as the airs cross open
its passing wings,
even if he doesn't know who he's singing to
or why,
or whether it will ever be heard in others.
as every minute it wanted to be:
more innocent.
From the moment it is born, nothing takes it away
of his earthly duty,
works in the sun, procreates, seeks its crumbs
and it's only his voice that defends
because in time it is not a bird
but a bolt of lightning on the night of his kind,
a relentless pursuit of life
so that the song remains.

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Apparently, singing is one of the most characteristic expressions of birds. Sing to be noticed in the world, to communicate, to express its nature. The bird flies and crosses the sky while its morning concert, punctual, awakens and encourages those who hear it. When I read this poem I cannot help but make an analogy with man's life. In man, this song is also fundamental, his expression before the world, which will be his essence among other creatures. As the poem says, like the bird, man "works in the sun, procreates, looks for his breadcrumbs/ and it is only his voice that defends". For man it is important his nature, his character, the matter in which he is made, that which identifies him and makes him unique among the other species. Likewise, in this song there is the certainty of the ephemeral that is his passage through the world, however, even so, he bets to make himself heard and thus leave a trace.

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At some point I read that life in the city changes the biological rhythm of birds. Supposedly, the light and noise of the big city change the behavior of the song and the internal clock of the birds. For example, in order to compete with the normal noise of large cities, some birds increase the volume of their song. And I think: Isn't this what big cities do with man? Doesn't it disrupt our nature, making us shrieking beings without essence? We spend all our time in a bad mood, grunting, because of the alienating environment in which we live. As in Alfred Hitchcock's The Birds, we human beings should throw ourselves against those who harm us and go against our existence.

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In short, it is true that nowadays very ugly things happen, very bad, but miraculously others remain in spite of and against all odds. Like that bird that didn't find a tree to make its nest and did it at the top of the electric pole. Likewise man, in spite of adversity, will always look for a way to survive. The bird sings ignoring how harmful we men are, but also how happy and human we feel with its trills.

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