The birds have been singing in ripples and waves on this first sunny day in a while. You can also hear the bees and the flies being busy and sometimes a soft clap from the waters. The Wolf Sound lies flat and blue in the easy breeze. Long, meandering lines of birds move across the sky from time to time, while their smaller cousins are shooting across the garden like feathered pellets from all directions.
The yellow and red tulips are stretching their necks like hungry young birds. In the sudden warmth, the garden seems to grow by the hour. Every leave is strutting in the sunshine. The beautiful green walls of lilacs are in full bloom in either purple or white and the rowan tree is coming around, too. The dark-purple flowers of the small lilac tree are turning mauve as they open, spreading an intoxicating fragrance, while the wild strawberries, in the midst of blooming, stool the bottom of the bush bed with impressive swiftness. The ferns have unrolled, elegantly as always, and the roses are shooting fat new stems every day. Even the bluebeards are turning green now.
There seems to be an interesting conversation going on among the birds. Their voices have become so distinct that you can believe they’re discussing something beyond the come-here and go-away routines, the simple rows over worms. Something more philosophical, which causes them to mock and laugh or object persistently as they exchange views on the subject. The uncommonly rainy weather of late perhaps? Or the flight of an unlucky fledgling?
posted by Country Dweller at 12:03 PM
1 Comments:
In early spring when I took my daughters for a walk, my toddler kept commenting on the birdsong she heard. I told her the daddy birds were saying to the mommy birds, "Pick me! PIck me!" Now every time she hears a bird, she says, "Pick me!"
I think the apostolic nature of learning bridsong has changed somewhat since with the use of recordings. But it still needs to be experienced.
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