“Chick-a-dee-dee-dee. Chick-a-dee-dee-dee.” I’m sitting outside, soaking up the elusive sliver of morning sunshine in my north-facing yard, hot cuppa joe in hand, listening to the birds. Lately, this is the best part of my day. Let me preface this by saying I’ve never considered myself a birdwatcher, and I couldn’t find the pair of binoculars I thought I owned if I tried. But there’s something about spending time outside and observing the birds—even from my postage stamp of urban space—that I find extremely calming. Like the sound of a waterfall, or the ocean’s rhythm, except it’s right on my doorstep.