Serious Twittering

I am surrounded by sounds this morning in my usual perch on a deck chair. In fact, every time I am here, I am surrounded by sound. This morning, however, I pay particular attention to it, eschewing my usual reading and studying. This morning's devotion is not only to hear, but to listen with focused attention and take note.

There are too many bird song variations to count. Roosters crowing, owls hooting (or is it doves cooing, or both?) There are chirps, tweets, caws, and cackles. It's a bird symphony extraordinaire with all the nuance and dynamic of the finest orchestra.

When I first arrived at this outdoor performance with coffee, books and journal, I heard numerous canine notes, ranging from little dog yaps to the bellowing, lonely laments of my neighbor-brother's oversized Chocolate lab (aptly named "Tank.") The conductor had brought the canine and bird cacophony to a massive crescendo as I took my seat in the surround-sound poolside theater. Amid the riot of noises, the humor and joy of it all caught me by surprise as my soul took to flight.

It's quieted down dramatically for the moment and there are numerous tweets (aviary, not human one's via computer) with a countless variety of tones.

Over my left shoulder, a patient and silent robin traverses the grass, hunting up goodies. Overhead, a silent bird gently soars over the neighbor's yard. Now a rather ugly 'caw' comes from a well-fed bird atop the basketball backboard in the driveway. As I crane (no pun intended) my neck to the right, to get a better view of Mr. Chubby, I am richly rewarded with a stunning view beyond our cars, one silver, one dark gray . . . I have to stop writing and stare as the first light of morning sun breaks through between the distant edge of the dark gray cloud cover and the misty foothill mountains that it shrouds. Beams of light burst through the range of velvet hills.

In the foreground, a different pudgy youthful-looking bird is atop the fence now, ruffling every feather imaginable (and unimaginable!) with his pointy beak. It's absurdly skinny legs defy logic in their ability to support both the size of the bird's body as well as the vigorous motions of feather-ruffling.

As I marvel at the morning's sights and symphony, and delight in the privelege of witnessing all the beauty and drama, I have to chuckle upon noticing the decorative verdigree crane statues four feet away. One is poised to eat off the cement, the other one's neck is extended, with its beak pointing skyward.

The 'real' birds, roosters and doves, are the most prominent sounds now, with a variety of chirping in the background. I wonder what the various songs are about. I mean, each bird species has its basic set of sounds, but as with humans, I am sure that individual birds have their own distinctive voices and stories to tell.

Usually, I hear the birds in the morning. Though I admit not with this kind of focused attention. Are they just as busy throughout the day and I don't hear them due to other noises competing with thoughts for attention? Probably, sadly so. Aren't we humans amazing creatures? We can block out so much when certain functions require more of our thought and awareness? I need to remember that, and make more of an effort to not only hear, but to listen, whether I am in the backyard or next to a roaring ocean. I bet I could even block that out!

My actual knowledge of 'things bird' is quite embarrasingly limited. This admission brings to mind a memory of a classic TV show's character whose name escapes me now. She always wore a tan safari outfit, always had binoculars strapped around her neck, and was always making studious observations about bird behavior. Was her name "Miss Jane?" Was is "Gilligans Island?"

Anyway, in our hi-tech world of constant communication, this gift of listening and witnessing the glories of morning has been a welcome moment.  At this particular moment, the cars and 'commercial birds' (planes) are now competing with nature's sounds . . . Nah! There's no competition.