Years ago, when drinking and hangovers tormented my life, I hated the loquat tree. The fragrance of the sweet loquats attracted flocks of parrots and budgerigars. Just before sunrise outside my bedroom window, the festivities would commence. Their chattering and squawking was worse than Happy Hour at the local pub. I lay there in bed holding the pillow around my aching head cursing the birds and that loquat tree. Today I watched the birds arrive. Disappearing into the safety of the tree, their joyful raucous made me grateful to be alive.