Today is one of those blue-sky, pure-smell mornings that makes me sit down at the piano and play a song from my old Cat Stevens songbook. I love the song for its words and for its bits of complicated syncopation. Even though I don't sing out loud, I hear the words clearly in my head. 'Morning has broken, like the first morning, Blackbird has spoken like the first bird. Praise for the singing, Praise for the morning, Praise for them springing fresh from the world.' Of course you have to replace the blackbirds with pigeons, but you get the idea that it's a great morning.