Between three and four in the morning, the awakening of birds, a solo blackbird or nightingale improvises, surrounded by a shimmer of sound, and by a halo of trills lost very high in the trees. A long phrase on the cello, infinitely slow, magnifies with love and reverence the eternity of this powerful and gentle word, “which the years can never efface”. Clarinet solo. The abyss is time, with its sorrows and its weariness. The birds are the opposite of time. They are our desire for light, for stars, for rainbows and joyful songs! I know nothing has ever lasted but the gaze into which it all burns. I know nothing has ever escaped the burning