Every so often, I think of pulling up my modern version of tent stakes and lighting out for new territory. What would I miss? A house I seem incapable of heating for much of the year? A summer that’s been rain, downpour, sheets of storm? A road nearly impassable in mud season? Black flies? Maggots in the brassica roots?
Walking down to the mailbox today, I realized I would miss the pure, haunting melody of the hermit thrush, this tiny, unassuming brown bird. The hermit thrush is a forest bird, not a bird feeder creature, and not inclined to appear in a suburban backyard. For just a brief bit of the year, the forest around us sings with its loveliness, an auditory treasure.
… we drop everything to listen as a
hermit thrush distills its fragmentary,
hesitant, in the end
– Amy Clampitt