My dear parakeets

Although they have been my sporadic companions these last few years, I don't remember them from my childhood.But today, when I hear the fuss they make, my chest fills with a warm joy, the kind you feel when you see an old friend again. 

 When a certain day of the year arrived in Rio, I would be woken up early in the morning by the crazy fuss they made on the roof of my room.The impression was that the neighbors of the surrounding buildings were throwing lumps on my roof.The first time, with my heart in my mouth, I discovered, astonished, a mass of green feathers that, startled by my presence, left in a revolted and noisy way for the tree in the neighboring plot. 

On the slope of the hill next to my building there is a small paradise of preserved Atlantic forest where the parakeets take a migratory break every year to rest and recover their strength.For days, this piece of forest, which in general is calm and only serves as a backdrop for a luxury condominium, is dominated by wild nature.The birds date, fight, socialize and fly off in formation at the end of the day.Over the past few years, however, I've noticed that the flocks have gotten smaller and smaller.I spent hours conjecturing with a cold heart as to where they had ended up. 

I solved this riddle when I moved to Porto Alegre, in the south of Brazil.Here they spend the winter, mate, have children and teach them to fly.The nests are huge and indistinctly occupy lampposts and palm tree tops.Every day, in the evening, indifferent to the rush of traffic, they throw a party in the skies.They fly from one side to the other, telling and recounting the news of the day, the damage from the last cyclone, the number of chicks dropped from their nests.My dog and I watched the scene in peace, sitting on the grass in the park, our hearts racing.Meeting old friends is so good!