The thrush greeting the morning;
the little bluebirds in their hot box;
the salty talk of the wren,
then the deep cup of the hour of silence â¦â
â âGratitudeâ by Mary Oliver
Before sunrise, when there is barely a hint of light coming through the trees, a cardinal begins to sing those sharp, clear, repetitive whistles âwoit woit woit chew-chew-chew-chew-chew.â Almost immediately a second one responds. These two birds crowd center stage as they act like an avian alarm clock, for soon they are joined by others ⦠whistling, singing, chirping, clucking.
From the field by the small pond, tree swallows chitter, bluebirds burble, the blackbird teeeews. Then the smallest of them, hidden in among the forsythia tangle by the barn, opens his beak and tosses out his long, rattly song described in Arthur Cleveland Bentâs âLife Histories of North American Birdsâ as âa burst of melody, a rather loud, hurried, strenuous, bubbling outpou