Birding By Ear

The poem requires a mind that finds meaning, even divination, in language. Non-fiction, up to academic standards, demands evidence. Nothing less will do. Most of us read fiction and this needs a taste for action, motivation. Lately, as have you, I have thought about our war and its purpose, motivation. But I have also closely listened to the wood thrush, analyzed its song like a tune by T.S. Monk or J.S. Bach concerto. One belongs to the loved ones who ostracize us, too. A robin looks, hops, pecks, is never calm. It is the flute-like tones, yes, but mostly the patient, meditative clarity of the thrush that enchants. One wants to be that bird. How will we attain calm clarity for the species *****sapiens? Through the discipline of asking questions. Mimics, woodpeckers, sing-songers, hawks, chippers and trillers, whistlers, name-sayers, loons, owls and a dove, high pitchers, wood warblers and a word-warbling wren. Unusual vocalizations. What did the wood thrush sing teaching its young thrush meanings? Too much commotion is the commonest of mortals’ sins. Peace has many faces, the wood thrush in the canopy is one. A word of praise here, an encouraging word there. A wraith, a ghost against an impatient man, verbose, unsure of the path, always longing. Nothing satisfies like the thrush's song.