Oh not them again

Our friend Jonathan, super-birder, bird watcher, bird specialist - not sure what he would like it termed as - rolls his eyes at the mention of these birds. Every year around this time the Nightingales return to fill our nights with liquid song and a lot of the day too. Every year I am entranced by the sounds. J finds them too invasive: it's true the other songsters are a little drowned out, but it is a magical set of ornithological lyrics.
These early spring days are marked by bird call. After the all night serenade, the blackbirds take over at about 6.00 am, then a general madness until the sun starts peeping over the parasol pine tree. Mostly silence for a while, then the swallows start up, dipping and swooping, their wheezing cries filling the air.
Sitting here writing now, I can hear blue tits, sparrows, possibly a distant thrush and yes, at least one pair of nightingales outdoing everyone else.
Here's a picture courtesy of google images (sorry, not sure who's it is) as I failed to get a good picture of one of these birds. Despite their sparkling song, the plumage is a palette of cream and brown, not wonderful mauves, deep iridescent sea green and vibrant orange as I always like to imagine. They blend into the matted twigs and branches of the hillside behind the house, almost impossible to see, only to hear.