Cuckcoo

The first time I heard a cuckoo bird, an actual live one, was in front of the Chambord Chateau in the Loire Valley of France. The evening had just begun and the whole area looked a little ghostly and haunted, when the bird started its song. I was very enchanted as I think, having only heard the clock, that they weren’t real, or at least I had forgotten they were. Another assumption I made, was that they were only in that part of France in that type of deep forest. Last night as Maurice and I sat on our terrace, me with my glass of wine, he with his pastisse, I heard a cuckoo again. It is a fairy tale kind of feeling for me to hear that sound echoing across our nearby forest. It only seems to sing as the sun is setting and I never hear it during the day. At first I thought I was hearing someone’s clock going off in a neighbor’s house but was delighted to realize that this is something I will probably hear every evening and I plan to be outside as often as possible when the sun is setting.