The Song of the Wood Thrush
June 22, 2022
THE WOODSÂ are his concert hall. High up in the trees, flute-like music resounds from his little breast. He says farewell to the summer day.
Farewell to the feeding and rushing. Goodbye to the verdant profusion of life. “Enough for now.”
But what a day it was! The tree limbs touched the sky.
The song of the wood thrush is the breath of his being. It “is calm, unhurried, peaceful, and unequaled in both power and beauty by any other woodland songster of New England,” wrote an observer in 1929. It can be heard today in deciduous woods and backyards throughout eastern North America. “It is usually composed of a series of triplets, each beginning with a high note, then a low one, then a trill, often highest of all, but the different phrases varying in pitch.” (Source)
We once knew a thrush who preferred jazz. He was a pianist in a romantic hotel bar and he knew we applauded him.
The thrush’s practiced melodies are a message of territory, but destined for human ears. They announce the tranquility of a summer night. They are a requiem for a June day in all its glory. A softness pervades the woods as he sings, and an assurance that all will be well in the end. Nature will come to a close in this way, with a chorus of such profound love.
Our hearts are full. We have room for no more.
