The birds outside my bedroom window go crazy every morning. I love it.

They wake up — sometimes one by one, other times as groups - all with something so say, something to contribute. Perhaps they are calling out to friends or family; perhaps they are marking their territory or chasing squirrels from their nest; perhaps they simply like to hear themselves sing. It doesn’t matter to me. I just like the music  — and or — noise they make. 

Because when they all chirp and tweet and whistle and trill and screech and caw and and hoot and peck and squawk it often doesn’t sound much like music. It’s almost like they each are trying to outdo the other and that comes across as a rather cacophony of chaos. 

I did not come up with that term on my own. I heard it and knew I loved it and knew it was the makings of a column.

And then I thought of the birds in the morning, and I knew where the cacophony would land.

The bird calls are a cacophony of chaos. They compete with each other and contribute to the overall symphony of noise. It is music and chaos all at the same time.

Birds creating musical chaos: I thought that was the end of it.

Until I found myself sitting by the edge of a pool in the afternoon. I was in love with the sunshine.

Then the children entered. Sometimes one by one, but mostly in groups, accompanied by their adult counterparts. They splashed their way into the water and it was obvious from the start that everyone had something to contribute. They began calling out to sisters and brothers — dunking and diving and squealing and gigghing — each claiming their own spot in the pool. Some demanded the attention of grown-ups to see them do a water trick. Others rejoiced loudly as they practiced swim strokes or dives. They added to their noise by splashing and laughing.

They were, in a word, loud. It was almost as they were all trying to outdo one another.

It didn’t matter me. 

I love the sound of children playing: their chatter, their squeals, their screams and their laughter. None of them seems to be listening to the other because they often aren’t and I thoroughly enjoy tuning to their own fun and glee. It’s almost like they are each trying to speak over the other and that comes across as a second cacophony of chaos.

Another one! Who would have thought this cacophony could happen more than once in nature?

Got me to thinking.

Maybe cacophony isn’t so much of an accident. Maybe chaos is planned. 

Perhaps chaos is more common than we think. Birds in the back yard. Children at the pool. A family gathering. The dynamics of a workplace. A baseball, basketball or soccer game. A group of friends from high school or college. A book club. A golfing group. A classroom. A neighborhood. A church. A school. 

Perhaps we are all part of the cacophony of chaos. Wouldn’t that be lovely?

I think maybe it would be. Maybe it already is Because lately I’ve come to the conclusion that maybe chaos is beautiful — if we allow it to be. 

Appreciate your chaos.

— Jill Pertler’s column Slices of Life appears regularly in the Times. She can be reached at 

slicescolumn@gmail.com.