The dragon tree outside my room (on the ground floor) and Aubrey's room (on the upper floor) is comprised of a peepal tree and a ficus tree that grew side by side and became enmeshed with each other. It is one of the oldest trees not only on our compound but on the entire length of P. Tuazon Boulevard as well. The two, intertwined trees are tall, mature, and lush--instead of seeing though their branches, one can only look into dark-green shadows, like hanging caverns.

The dragon tree has become the abode of a variety of birds. Most of them are escapees not only from our pet bird cages but from those of neighbors' pet bird cages as well: parakeets, African ring-eyes, and the bird man's favorite mayas, costas, and batubatos, or rice field birds.

On mornings like today's, between a night of light rain and an afternoon drizzle, the dragon tree is a concert venue for the birds. They chirp and call and trill and warble all at once, and I cannot help but sit inside the small loggia with my cup of black, Espresso Italiano Blend and listen to the joyous cacophony, trying to gaze beyond the canopies and drapes of leaves, wanting to decipher what songs the birds are singing and whom they are singing them for.