No alarm was set so my view slowly adjusted from the inside of my eyelids to my bedroom ceiling.<\/p>\n
Rain pelting the siding told me that the attire I laid out last evening for early morning birding needed to be amended. But I could not get a second to my motion.<\/p>\n
I know where my rain-suit is. Fortified with coffee and the right apparel, I have birded in all kinds of conditions. But today the flesh is weak. The committee in my head tabled the motion. By a unanimous vote it was decided that I would bird from my bed. Not by sight, but by sound.<\/p>\n
My flesh thanked the committee.<\/p>\n
I propped open the window by my bed. The sash weights long ago divorced the rope and pulley and have settled into single life in the casing. With no help-mate the window will not stay raised and must be propped. An old shoe, a book, a wooden coat-hanger\u2014whatever is close will do. This morning it was a lint roller.<\/p>\n
I didn’t need an open window to hear the incessantly loud call of the Carolina Wren from the whorled leaves of a Chinaberry tree. “Peup-peup-peup-tew-tew-tew-tew-mew!” said the lady with the white eyebrows. Maybe the noise will keep the Brown-headed Cowbird from bothering her nest.<\/p>\n
A Tufted Titmouse called for Peter. I imagined him flying from the Wild Cherry tree to the birdfeeder. He has no trouble shooing away the House Finches who slow up the buffet line.<\/p>\n
Then it was the metallic clicking of Northern Cardinals and the whinnying of American Robins.<\/p>\n
The more I centered myself in their space, the more I could hear.<\/p>\n
The whistling wings of the Mourning Doves meant the pair was flying up to perch. Their bobble headed walking gave way to smooth ascent. Because it is spring, even a steady rain cannot keep their cooing from wooing.<\/p>\n
My mind started to wander, fretting what I was missing by not being in the field. What about the migrants I might glimpse? Perhaps a Rose-brested Grosbeak? A Fox Sparrow? Maybe a Kentucky Warbler?<\/p>\n
A Blue Jay flew by the window with a warning of “Thief!” Like a yogi’s mantra it centered me and I was mindful of the present and entered again the activity of listening.<\/p>\n
There it was. “Chewink!”<\/p>\n
And again, “Chewink!”<\/p>\n
An Eastern Towhee. Early on you learn the distinctive “Drink your Tea!” invitation it extends while shading in the bushes. It is a moment of pride when you can also identify it by its “Chewink!” call. In my mind I can see it on the ground under the feeder. Alongside the Dark-eyed Junco it depends on the trickle-down economics of the feeding tray.<\/p>\n
From under the Magnolia tree I heard the sounds of smacking, the kind your lips make. It reminds me of a child kissing the forehead of their newly-birthed sibling. Smack. Lips. Kissing. My mnemonic for the Brown Thrasher. Barrel chested with curved bill it tosses leaves like an old-school wrestler. Nothing stands in its way for breakfast.<\/p>\n
My dog moves and stretches. She wonders why she has not been let out yet. I sympathize with her predicament and know that it is time for both of us to get going.<\/p>\n
It has been a good morning of birding.<\/p>\n
I didn’t even touch my binoculars.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
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