twitterpated.

23 May

There is this bird who lives next door to me.

I say next door but in reality I am not entirely sure which of the trees in my yard serve to house his humble nest; but I like to think of us, the bird and me, as neighbors. As friendly cohabitants of our quaint mountain cul-de-sac.

I don’t hear much from him during the midday hours but each morning, just as the Night pulls back its starry curtains to make way for the Sun, he pops out to sing a cheery good morning; announcing to the neighborhood that it is time to rise from our cozy cocoons and greet the day.

We are visited by his sweet song again each evening as the Sun lowers her brow beneath the mountaintops. He is often the final voice softly calling out through the dusky pinks and oranges that paint our mountain landscape; as though he is the conductor for the symphony of stars as they make their way high into the night sky.

His song is so much sweeter than that of the other neighborhood birds. Nothing like the harsh cackle of the Jay as it swoops in and out of the trees or the intrepid buzz of the Hummingbirds as they zip through the air in search of some nectar; rather I find that his joyful little voice calls deep into my soul offering a bit of sprightly music to the start and finish of my day.

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