I sat one evening in a garden when summer’s blush was on the wane, regretting the thought that all too soon its colour and life would die again. I was thinking of the long dreary wait thereafter until the blessings of next Spring would stir – then, cutting across my gloomy reverie came the haunting aria of a blackbird. He poured it out in purest bel canto, sweeter than James Galway’s golden flute; reached my soul, uplifted drooping spirits - peace filled my heart, gladness in full fruit. Did he sing for his own sweet pleasure? for surely that is possible; or did he sing love songs to his soul-mate? Now, maybe that’s more probable, But for whatever reason he sang, For me he was rendering “Gloria in excelsis Deo!”