Between Five and Six
Between five and six in the morning, I am always awake. Coffee first, then the balcony. It’s my small ritual—standing still while the city stretches itself awake. Rio, surprisingly, is quiet at that hour. Quiet, that is, except for the two damn birds.
I know exactly where they are. Right across the street, just below Pão de Queijo—the orange cat in the neighboring building. That is the name I gave him based on color and my favorite snack. He spends his mornings perched in the window, either sitting proudly or sleeping on his tiny bed, completely unbothered by the commentary unfolding above him.
I imagine the birds are talking about me.
Bird1:There he is, that damn gringo.
Bird2:Quiet—he’s just having coffee.
Bird1:Yeah, but he’s always there.
Bird2:So what, he can’t understand us.
Bird1:Why? Because we speak Portuguese?
Bird2:No. Because we speak bird.
They laugh it up, and I hear every bit of it. Then another bird joins in—different voice, different tone. He’s off to the right of the balcony. I think he dislikes the other two. He squawks for a moment, they answer back, and then—silence. The same exchange, every day.
That pause is my favorite part.
In the quiet that follows, the city begins its slow return. I keep my eyes closed, because you see more with your ears. First comes the low hum of air conditioners. A car passes. Then another. Down below, the building staff gather with their coffee, talking and laughing. The sound carries upward and reminds me of office mornings before retirement—those moments before the workday officially claimed you.
You learn the language of motion this way. A car sounds different from a truck. A bus has its own voice entirely—a deep, steady rumble you can hear two streets away as it moves along the beach, collecting people headed to work.
The sun rises behind the buildings. I don’t need to open my eyes to know it’s there. I feel it on my skin. This is Rio, and it’s summer. By now, the streets wake fully—horns, buses, traffic, urgency. Humanity, in motion.
It’s nothing like the suburbs. Here, life announces itself.
I still see more with my ears.
And standing there with my coffee, listening, I hear the city come alive.
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