Certain birdcalls change the world. The hermit thrush, the wood thrush, the veery: they sing and one is transported. A palpable sense of mystery, a profound beauty, emerges from the world. On a recent climb, late in the day, the tree is full of green-gold light and a wood thrush starts singing from very near. As close as it is I can’t find it among the dappled foliage of surrounding trees. For all the times it has brought me joy to hear a thrush or veery calling from an opposite hillside at dusk, this is the first time one has been close enough to make a recording. Oh, for a serious piece of audio equipment! But I do have my phone in my pocket.
It is tempting to reach for words to describe the glory of this song, up there in the kingdom of the trees, but everyone who has heard it knows its transporting power already. I will only add that a profound gratitude is always the first, and deepest, thing I feel when I hear any of these three birds sing (perhaps the veery most of all); a gratitude that is sacred because it is for all of existence.
