27 August 2019 (crows)
Kristen Lindquist
late summer
the dawn chorus
of crows
Book of Days
BOOK OF DAYS: A POET AND NATURALIST TRIES TO FIND POETRY IN EVERY DAY
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Filtering by Tag: dawn chorus
June 14: Dawn
Kristen Lindquist
This morning I awoke at the ungodly hour of first light, sometime around 4 a.m., and for some reason was wide awake for almost two hours. The overcast sky was just whitening through the screen of leaves. I tried to let the soothing rush of the river lull me back to sleep, but I was just too alert.
While I lay there trying to will my mind to emptiness, I didn't hear any birds for a long time. No dawn chorus. The spring fling is over. I became aware of the avian silence because I realized that I could hear the distant call of the foghorn, such a poignant early sound. I don't think there's a foghorn in Camden, so sound was resonating well on this still morning.
Eventually a crow flew through the back yard, cawing briefly and softly. A bit later a titmouse whistled repeatedly for a few minutes, then stopped. Later still, as I was contemplating whether I should just get out of bed for the day, I heard the tremolo of a loon flying over the house on its way upriver. Finally, as I was drifting back to sleep at last, I heard a sharp thump on the roof and then the patter of little running feet--one of the many neighborhood squirrels was up and at 'em. Good morning! The last thought I remember was wondering if flying squirrels live in our neighborhood, gliding unseen among the trees in the half-light of these early hours.
Distant foghorn moans.
Even the crow sounds muted
on this grey morning.
While I lay there trying to will my mind to emptiness, I didn't hear any birds for a long time. No dawn chorus. The spring fling is over. I became aware of the avian silence because I realized that I could hear the distant call of the foghorn, such a poignant early sound. I don't think there's a foghorn in Camden, so sound was resonating well on this still morning.
Eventually a crow flew through the back yard, cawing briefly and softly. A bit later a titmouse whistled repeatedly for a few minutes, then stopped. Later still, as I was contemplating whether I should just get out of bed for the day, I heard the tremolo of a loon flying over the house on its way upriver. Finally, as I was drifting back to sleep at last, I heard a sharp thump on the roof and then the patter of little running feet--one of the many neighborhood squirrels was up and at 'em. Good morning! The last thought I remember was wondering if flying squirrels live in our neighborhood, gliding unseen among the trees in the half-light of these early hours.
Distant foghorn moans.
Even the crow sounds muted
on this grey morning.
May 21: Morning Sounds
Kristen Lindquist
I love waking up for a few minutes around dawn to hear the birds welcoming the day--the jubilant dawn chorus--before I fall back asleep. Last night was so warm I left the bedroom window cracked, hoping to be awakened this morning by birdsong. When I did wake up for a brief period in the day's wee hours, however, no wave of melodious warblers was moving through our back yard. I didn't even hear robins, whose rollicking songs open and close each day--just some chickadees and a phoebe, their songs punctuating the constant rush of the river in the background.
My husband, who usually wakes up at least an hour before I do, was away last night. So after I fell back asleep, there were not even the noises of his puttering around the house getting ready for work to rouse me again. I slept till the alarm went off. It was unusually restful, but when I did finally get out of bed, I felt something had been missing.
No dawn chorus, nor
your usual morning sounds--
only the river.
My husband, who usually wakes up at least an hour before I do, was away last night. So after I fell back asleep, there were not even the noises of his puttering around the house getting ready for work to rouse me again. I slept till the alarm went off. It was unusually restful, but when I did finally get out of bed, I felt something had been missing.
No dawn chorus, nor
your usual morning sounds--
only the river.