All the while the wood thrush’s enchanting, flute-like song rang out from the woodlands beyond, I photographed bush beans in the kitchen garden. “Ee-Oh-Lay!” Light drizzle fell all around. And on me. But on this sprig I found a bud and a flower and a minuscule bean, and the wood thrush and I thought it a beautiful morning!
We wait in excited anticipation for the return of wood thrushes to our beloved woodlands each Spring. In one of my favorite literary passages, Henry David Thoreau wrote of its song:
As I come over the hill, I hear the wood thrush singing his evening lay. This is the only bird whose note affects me like music, affects the flow and tenor of my thought, my fancy and imagination. It lifts and exhilarates me. It is inspiring. It is a medicative draught to my soul. It is an elixir to my eyes and a fountain of youth to all my senses. It changes all hours to an eternal morning.
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