Bird Song

I had missed my morning walk a few times, so it felt good today to stretch my legs and head off towards the backside of the complex under a bright blue sky. It had been frightfully cold, making Kiel state that fall had officially arrived even though the 21st had not yet shown its face. Even Drew, who never puts on jackets or wraps up, dug through my cedar chest for an actual blanket to put on his bed! A miracle if I have ever seen one. I gave serious thought to turning on the heat when the temps got down to 34 degrees, but resisted. I am determined to hold off until at least October 1st if at all possible.

Our neighbors have been moving out in flocks - first the couple upstairs next to us, then the couple downstairs. (I sort of wish the older couple who smoke and stink up the hallway even though they step outside to smoke would consider moving out, but it doesn't look likely). Mornings are quiet in our building. I step lightly down the stairs and quietly shut the door behind me.

As soon as I reached the sidewalk I realized how silly I was being tiptoeing around. There was a major cacophony of bird song swirling through the air. First I heard bluejays chattering and calling their five note repeated pitch, followed by the racket of crows. Somewhere in the distance there was the gentle coo of the morning dove, the cheerful chirrup of robins, and very faint, the twitter of sparrows.

It was enjoyable, the different pitches, different melodic contours, most of them a descending third or fourth. I stepped along, not bothering to turn on my MP3 player. The air was still chill, the grass dewy, a few cars heading sleepily towards the workday. Suddenly I heard what I thought was someone knocking on a door. I glanced around, but didn't see anyone.

There it was again. A definite knocking on a door. I stopped stock still in the middle of the road and looked carefully about. At last I found the source of the sound. High above my head in the upper branches of a tall oak tree sat a large black bird. I could see him puffing out his feathers, then, poking his neck forward, he emitted the knocking sounds. He repeated them over and over. What kind of crazy bird song was this? I have never heard such a distinctive sound.

He was completely alone in his high perch. Was he calling a mate? Warning other birds to stay out of his territory? Trying to clear his throat? Did he have a cold? Well, I guess I will never know. I started walking again, grinning at the lady walking her dog who stopped stock still in the middle of the road when she heard someone knocking on a door . . .