I hear whistling everywhere I go. I hear it from my window from the guys doing construction on the building next to me each morning when I wake up. As I walk from one place to another, whether climbing a hill to see an ancient library in an ancient monastery, or take the tram to Prague 4 to raid the Program’s library… I hear whistling. The cheerful, unspecific whistling, no particular tune. The whistling while you work. Or on the way to work. Or wherever. People also whistle to call out or to get attention. But the Cat Call is conspicuously absent here, just a lot of little human birds singing along through the cobbled streets.
|Part of the Prague Whimsey: “The Dancing Building”, aka “Fred and Ginger”|