Wood Thrush Concert

One edge of my yard drops off into a steep, undisturbed woodland. To sit at its edge is to sit perched at the top of a grand amphitheater awaiting a performance. And yesterday there was a performance of the most pristine kind.

After two days of rain, rain and more rain, the forest canopy sagged and dripped. The thick piles of leaf litter were sodden and silent, the air cold and heavy, the sky overcast with gray. But the song of the wood thrush drew me into his hushed world, to a stage so reverent and tranquil that I became transfixed for the duration of an hour.

In silence I listened to the most heavenly and purest of songs. And after a while, I could follow his movement, though still unseen, by the non-melodious vocal ‘blubs’ and chirps that seemed to accompany his adjustment to a new perch and introduce his next song. This gave me great delight.

Toward the end of the concert, he paid me a visit, landing on a branch just over my left shoulder, and showed me his next perch, so I could both see and hear. It was as though I had a seat in the VIP section of the theater and the star had just come to shake my hand.

My lens is not nearly strong enough to capture a good photo at that distance, nor was the gray light of much help, but I do love my photos. They bring even more intimacy to the moment and will give me later reference for when, before the summer’s end, I sit down to paint this star's portrait.