Ring o' Robins

Much earlier than this....in the still dark, really

Went out way early to look...or listen really...for Timberdoodles. Alas, not a single Peent! no matter how distant, to be heard.

However, there was a fine dawn chorus, echoing through the early fog and bringing the morning alive with wild music.

Only four species though. Only four. Robins, Song Sparrows in every direction, a distant White-throated Sparrow, most likely one of our own winter survivors, as they hang around the feeders, tame as ever, all day long, and a lone Killdeer, stitching the songs together with a strident staff to hang the notes upon.

There will be more, and probably soon. By the end of May it will be hard if not impossible to pick out all the threads of the morning symphony...but for now it is a Wing Quartet, lovely, but promising so much more and soon.

And hopefully a Woodcock!! Just for me.

Please send condolences, a prayer, a soft shoulder in time of need, or just a moment of silent thought, to my sister-in-law, Lisa, my brother, and their whole family. She lost her dad yesterday....never easy, but especially hard this time....and they need all the love and support we can give them.

Sorry also for the absence of posts. We have all been laid low, yet again, by a plague that found its way home from an Easter party with poor little Peggy. It spread through the family like a fungus. The boss has been very sick....wife thinking about the hospital and waiting on him and bringing him medicine sick....Liz has been nearly as ill....and the rest of us have been pure D miserable. I sound like an asthmatic VW with a clogged air intake.

This could all clear up any time now if I have my way, but it probably won't. At least Peggy is significantly better. Anyhow, have a good one. 

Speaking of the White-throated Sparrows....one was singing the other day in the stunted Elm across the driveway when I took out a few seeds, fairly begrudgingly, because, chipmunks you know... He saw me coming and flew to the Honey Locust still calling for Old Sam Peabody as they do.

And then, wonder of wonders, he landed about two feet above my head and just poured out his song as I stood there. I could see every feather in his bright, white, throat and yellow lores, and stripey everything else. It was like standing under a waterfall of Heavenly music. I think he would have sung as long as I stood, but I went inside so he could enjoy his breakfast in peace.