Sometimes it’s funny how nature presents itself; it's often serendipitous as we stumble into insight at the most opportune moment.
Recently, I heard the soft warbler of a bluebird, but try as I might, I could not find it. I looked but the source of the call seemed to come from no place specific. It just floated on the breeze.
I'm not the first to be so puzzled. Within the hour I read a passage in 19th century naturalist John Burroughs' first book “Wake-Robin,” originally published in 1871.
“The [blue]bird at first seems a mere wandering voice in the air: one hears its call or carol...but is uncertain of its source or direction; it falls like a drop of rain when no cloud is visible; one looks and listens, but to no purpose."
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2 comments:
beautiful bird... and a nice post as always.
So that's what one looks like. For years I thought I was missing something. 'There are Bluebirds over the white cliffs of Dover' Then I found that the anthem for the British during WWII was actually written in the US. Always worth dropping by your site. Thanks.
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