Calling out love songs

As Paul Simon sang, “I hear the drizzle of the rain” at 3:45 this morning. Can’t sleep. Best to make a list of gratitude. Today, I’m grateful for A to Z birds I’ve seen somewhere. Auks in zoos, Bluebirds painted sky-blue and red in Palo Alto hills, fun Crows doing stand-up routines at outdoor cafes, a gentle black and white photograph of Matisse in his studio with his Doves, Eagles floating above empty beaches in Ketchikan, French hens in storybooks (do they cluck “Ah, avec plaisir”?), yellow Grosbeaks at local feeders, red-tailed Hawks announcing their presence above meadows, elongated Ibises in great flocks in nature programs, Steller’s Jays shockingly blue in trees beyond the creek at Cullaby Lake, Kingfishers at water’s edge of the Columbia, Loons at night by a lake in the Alleghenies, Mourning doves in fog on telephone wires, upside down Nuthatches on tree trunks, Owls in woods asking an age-old question, Pheasants tootling and whooshing up startling in tall grass in Rhode Island, an international-symbol-for-Quail-crossing sign in small-town Redmond by Microsoft headquarters before they paved the road, Redwinged blackbirds calling out love songs while balancing on reeds in ditches by highways, Starlings in swirling swooshes across Seattle skies, wood Thrushes in parks with wildest notes of flight in their songs, Unknown birds by the marsh actually called LBJs (little brown jobs) in some birdwatching manuals, Vireos in A Child’s Encyclopedia, particolored Wood ducks near the Everglades, an X of nesting materials in bare trees along Eel River, lemon Yellow goldfinches at feeders in Mount Angel Abbey, and —anywhere they appear I love —Zzzzzzing hummingbirdzzz.
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