In her mind, Gisela composed a list of things to do every day, but she could not come up with more than three items and they all related to fowl: Using that good energy of the morning to sing with the birds. Saying hello to the snappish chicken in the yard even if they don’t talk back. Waving at the sparrow hawk over the field behind the king’s garden. – Then she wondered why. “Sing for me, little one,” her mother used to say. Her two older brothers seemed mute and deaf when they were with her: she didn’t even seem to register with them. It was only natural that she should join a convent as soon as she could hold a needle. The sparrow hawk was the most mysterious of the three. She imagined how the wind liked to ruffle his feathers. How he could go anywhere if he wanted to, how he didn’t take orders from anyone… It was odd and magical that anything flew through the air at all! How much foresight the creator had shown to give people something to look at in all directions. To provide song even for the trees and hills, to let everyone have a mood and to paint freedom on the sky with the flight of a raptor. “It’ll give you an edge in the world,” her mother said, “and it’s the same convent I went to: they’ll recognize me in you and the mother superior is a good friend.” – “But it’s all work, no play,” said Gisela. Mother said that nowhere needlework was taught as in Dargun: the place was so far from anywhere, all they had was craft and prayer. Surely they sang, Gisela thought, just different songs, not bird song but god song. A higher form of singing for sure. She peeped: “tshilp, tshilp, tshilp.” One had to peep while one could peep.