out of the cradle

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One of the highlights of winter are the visiting loners, the hermit thrushes.

In the north, where they nest, they're known for their melodious songs. Here they are generally mute, having nothing to really sing about; there's no pressure to claim territory or attract mates. The only pressure is to find food, conserve energy and survive. There's nothing to sing about there; there's no poetry.

Walt Whitman uses the hermit thrush as a symbol of the American voice: wild, free and poetic in his poem "Out of the Cradle Endlessly Rocking."

" From the memories of the bird that chanted to me"

Walking at Ijams the other day, I encountered one of the hermits in the trees near the main parking lot. Although they tend to be loners, they're rather salient, often remaining perched on a limb for awhile, giving you a good long look. And even though it was silent, it chanted me nonetheless.

-Photo taken at Ijams Nature Center

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