If it were just three times I could get some sleep . . .

The sun is coming up in Port au Prince. One would think that is the most obvious sign of the beginning of a new day. But for newcomers there is another. The roosters. They crow indiscriminately around the clock, but apparently that is just to keep their voices in good shape so that when the Creator taps on the horizon with his blazing baton they will be able to join the symphony without hesitation.

I haven't noticed any hesitation.

It is irritating when the cock crows.

It is irritating when the cock crows and light is shed on things that I don't want to see, things that I can deny in the dark.

But it happens every morning. Some of the roosters sound as if they have very little voice left. They strain with urgent call as if to say, "surely you will be able to hear us this time, surely you will not keep your eyes closed any longer."

It is getting more difficult to say I didn't know.

Irritating.