Friday, May 06, 2005
Wood Thrush
The May evenings are lengthening, and as the sun slowly sinks into the trees, the wood thrush begins his bittersweet, lovely call from deeper in the woods; in the last twilight, the other birds become quiet, leaving the wood thrush hauntingly singing alone. His call always makes me think of Taps: Lee-Oh-Lay... Oh Day Is Done... Lee-Oh Lay. I almost hold my breath listening to the last ravishing strains of the thrush's song; then the light fades, the stillness of night creeps up from the ravines, and the first lightning bugs take to the air.
And after April, when May follows,
And the whitethroat builds, and all the swallows...
that's the wise thrush; he sings each song twice over,
Lest you should think he never could recapture
The first fine careless rapture!
Robert Browning
And after April, when May follows,
And the whitethroat builds, and all the swallows...
that's the wise thrush; he sings each song twice over,
Lest you should think he never could recapture
The first fine careless rapture!
Robert Browning
// posted by IBOY @ 8:07 PM 
