On May Day, I hauled myself out of bed just before four in the morning and set off through the gradually paling dark to attend a “dawn chorus guided walk” in an ancient oak wood. I have wanted to be better at identifying birds by their voices and this seemed a rather glorious way to celebrate the spring. It was wonderful – the wood full of flowers and greening trees and damp, mossy sweetness; both lovely in the present and dense with burgeoning promise. The complexity, variety and, to be blunt, volume of the birdsong – the chorus I had come for – was extraordinary. It was also very beautiful and, for some complicated reasons I need to think more about, did not feel like a breach in my own silence but an enhancement of it.The walk was led by a young RSPB range