My family moved house earlier this year and for a little while now, my ‘To-Do’ list has had on it in capital letters a reminder to: ‘FIX GARAGE GUTTERING.’ It never gets a strike through it: check, job done, one less thing to worry about. A simple task it would be to look up online a tradesperson to come and sort my broken and blocked guttering, an afternoon’s work for someone who knows what they are doing. My reluctance to tackle the repair-work stems from the fact that the problems with the garage guttering have created a morning moment of enchantment for me that I do not want to have to say goodbye to, even if it would mean clearing up the worsening damp patch and dripping rainwater inside the red-brick walls.

Each morning, before the rest of the house awakens, I tip-toe downstairs, being sure to miss the squeaky step half-way down. The hush of darkness envelops me, something about that pre-dawn silence is deeply soothing, ethereal. A new day lingers at the fringes of this fragile, precious time and there is no holding it off. The noise of the coffee grinder permeates the stillness. I fix the grinds in the coffee pot and light the flame to make the first morning cuppa. As I wait, the earthy aroma fills the air, the coffee beginning to bubble just as the sun edges over the horizon, gently announcing the day. With each sunrise the colours vary: every hue of pink, orange, mauve and gold, even on grey mornings when mist hangs over the meadow there is still a gentle tinge of warmth that manages to make it through the haze.

I pour my coffee and remain by the sink, last night’s supper dishes still undone, but I ignore them, looking out the window and waiting, holding my breath in anticipation. Soon they arrive, in a flurry of black, purple, green, brown and blue, bickering raucously amongst themselves as they land on the tiled garage roof. One-by-one they hop into the guttering that is filled with rainwater to take their morning bath. It is a noisy affair, pointed starling beaks thrashing as they boisterously splash and flap their wings to get the water into all the nooks and crevices of their feathers. My cup warms my hands, welcome in the chill of the kitchen first thing in the morning. I laugh quietly as I watch the birds carrying out their bath-time routine, then take a sip.

More starlings come, a whole host of morning visitors that bring with them much amusement. I recall with fondness standing on the Albert Bridge in Belfast as a child, mesmerised as I watched the daily murmuration of starlings that takes to the skies just as people make the homebound commute from work: swooping, swirling and soaring in their thousands; majestic. An impressive spectacle at the end of the working day to invite the weary soul to look up and marvel, if only for a moment. The starlings in my blocked guttering stir up a similar feeling of wonder within. The display only lasts for a few minutes before the birds fly off, water droplets scattering in all directions as they flap their wings before take-off, a ritual that could so easily go unnoticed. And yet to witness it daily brings me so much joy; there’s a world of colour to be seen before the day even has a chance to yawn and stretch its arms. In the act of paying attention to this fleeting visit, I somehow feel more connected to the natural world around me and the rhythms of life; a small comfort in a world that can often feel chaotic and uncertain. As the sun in its entirety emerges to now rest full and bright in the sky, I am grounded into a sense of belonging to a wilder world, a world of intricate design and beauty.

Alarm clocks sound upstairs, floorboards creaking as my family ready themselves for school and work, the thundering descent into the kitchen to join me for breakfast and organise kit bags pulling me from the delicious stillness. I finish my coffee and observe as one straggler starling remains in the gutter splash-pool. Backwards and forwards he goes in an energetic burst of beating wings and happy chirps as if enjoying a water-ride at a theme park. A split second later he has departed, up onto the neighbours’ roof before flying off into the blue sky and out of sight over the trees in the distance. My ‘To-Do’ list hanging on the fridge door catches my attention as I fetch the milk. The shouty note to ‘fix garage guttering’ will remain strike-free for a little while longer.