The Song of a Wood Thrush

On several recent mornings, the song of a Wood Thrush has floated up from woods along one of the creeks that run through our neighborhood. Its ee-oh-lay, ee-oh-loo-eee sounds like an enchanted flute, not just a song, but a poem, lyrical, shining and shadowed, impossibly beautiful, complex and haunting.

It’s never close enough to see, staying hidden far down in the woods near the creek – a Robin-like bird with a shaded-brown back and bold dark spots on the breast. Like an increasing number of woodland birds that used to be common, a Wood Thrush now is heard much less often here. It feels lucky this summer to have at least one around.

In the same low, wooded area near the creek, an Acadian Flycatcher casts its sharp, thin wheet-sit. A Red-eyed Vireo sings, a slower, less urgent refrain than earlier in the spring. A Red-shouldered Hawk cries kee-yer, kee-yer, soaring somewhere beyond the trees. A pair of Brown-headed Nuthatches exchange squeaky calls as they forage in tall pines.

A little further up the road, up a hill and into a more open area, two Barn Swallows swoop around a house with a large covered porch and the large open grassy yard.

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