Sunday, April 24, 2011


Hearing the sound of meadowlarks in the morning is always a sign to me that spring is finally here.

Now, we hear lots of birds where we live: The red-shouldered blackbirds -- telephone birds, we call them, because of their call -- and the Yoo-Hoo Bird, also named by us for its distinctive whistle. We hear woodpeckers banging their heads all over the place, plus our fair share of mourning doves. Also plenty of nameless finches who hide in the trees and bushes and fill the air with their songs. I even love the timid, raspy songs of the sparrows, so often overlooked when the other birds arrive. Later, as the fruit grows on the trees, we see the mountain bluebirds and the wild canaries. And those kildeer, on their long legs, running through the weeds in the undeveloped business park where we walk. We know you're leading us from your nests, but we're willing to follow and fall for your ruse because you're working so well to defend your family.

But I always go back to meadowlarks in the morning. Or in the evening. Doesn't matter. There's no more beautiful sound in the world.

Then there's this, which I listen to when the world is cold and snowy and the birds have all flown south for the winter:

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