Most birds have gotten rather taciturn now that the heat of summer has settled into the valley. But yesterday afternoon, I heard the rhythmic kha - - kha - - kha - - kha - - kha of a yellow-billed cuckoo in the treetops behind the Visitor Center.
The call always sounds like it's coming from a great distance away. My late grandmother Mary Jane called these birds "rain crows." I'm not sure if their woefully unmelodic calling supposedly foretold of an approaching storm, or the hope of one to cool things off, but yesterday, either would have been fine.
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