There is a secret garden that belongs to one of the houses along the inner circle road inside London's Regent's Park. It is often open to the public and, when wandering in there one day in March, I heard the sound of lovely birdsong.
The garden was full of sticks waiting to transform themselves into beautiful plants in the summer and, in the middle of a thorny bush, sat a robin who was singing his heart out.
He let me get quite close without ever stopping the singing.
Then he turned his back on me and flew away.
It was great to be treated to the robin's lovely song in the middle of London's concrete jungle.
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