January
I have to admit, January is probably close to being my least favorite month of the year, except for the fact that it's right before February (i.e., Valentine's Day) and it also has my grandmother's birthday at the end of it.
There just seems to be an unending stream of gray, dreary, bitterly cold days in January, and for that reason (combined with the post-Christmas letdown so common now), I would just rather skip it and go on into red-and-pink month.
Yet there is this one thing that I absolutely love about January. ....this little part of nature, the world outside, that makes me still love this particular month. Every afternoon, about 4:00 or maybe a little later, there comes a swarm of mystery birds out of hiding. They perch high in the tops of certain trees, where they proceed to not just sing, but....how do I say it.....screech? No, that sounds like it would be offensive to the ear. It is not chortling like a robin does, but it is not as ear-piercing as a hawk or other large bird. It is the sound of thousands and thousands of these birds calling back and forth to one another, and I think it's beautiful.
I can remember the first time I noticed it. We had just moved to this state, and I was 12 years old at the time. My sister (4) and I used to stay outside from the time school let out until dinner was ready, even in the cold weather. While in the backyard, suddenly these choruses of birds would all flock into a spindly tree, making the entire top waver with their sudden weight. They would skwawk and sing almost madly, and I marveled at the sound, having never heard it in Louisiana, where we'd moved from.
Yesterday, Gardner and I saw these flocks firsthand as we chose to take a long walk at this time of day. It was so intriguing to both of us, actually, that we stopped right there and listened for a while. The birds noticed the company they'd beckoned and began to play with us, swooping rather low and darting all around. Gardner looked up wide-eyed, and slowly his two hands opened and reached up over his head, as if he might be lucky enough to touch the tip of their feathers as they zoomed by us.
It was a perfect moment.
Now, if anyone could enlighten me as to what kind of birds these might be, I'd be really grateful.
In the meantime, if you can steal away from whatever you're doing today at 4:30pm or so (and if you live in the Southeast), sneak outside and listen. You might hear it, too, the strangely compelling "song" of a thousand January birds in unison.
There just seems to be an unending stream of gray, dreary, bitterly cold days in January, and for that reason (combined with the post-Christmas letdown so common now), I would just rather skip it and go on into red-and-pink month.
Yet there is this one thing that I absolutely love about January. ....this little part of nature, the world outside, that makes me still love this particular month. Every afternoon, about 4:00 or maybe a little later, there comes a swarm of mystery birds out of hiding. They perch high in the tops of certain trees, where they proceed to not just sing, but....how do I say it.....screech? No, that sounds like it would be offensive to the ear. It is not chortling like a robin does, but it is not as ear-piercing as a hawk or other large bird. It is the sound of thousands and thousands of these birds calling back and forth to one another, and I think it's beautiful.
I can remember the first time I noticed it. We had just moved to this state, and I was 12 years old at the time. My sister (4) and I used to stay outside from the time school let out until dinner was ready, even in the cold weather. While in the backyard, suddenly these choruses of birds would all flock into a spindly tree, making the entire top waver with their sudden weight. They would skwawk and sing almost madly, and I marveled at the sound, having never heard it in Louisiana, where we'd moved from.
Yesterday, Gardner and I saw these flocks firsthand as we chose to take a long walk at this time of day. It was so intriguing to both of us, actually, that we stopped right there and listened for a while. The birds noticed the company they'd beckoned and began to play with us, swooping rather low and darting all around. Gardner looked up wide-eyed, and slowly his two hands opened and reached up over his head, as if he might be lucky enough to touch the tip of their feathers as they zoomed by us.
It was a perfect moment.
Now, if anyone could enlighten me as to what kind of birds these might be, I'd be really grateful.
In the meantime, if you can steal away from whatever you're doing today at 4:30pm or so (and if you live in the Southeast), sneak outside and listen. You might hear it, too, the strangely compelling "song" of a thousand January birds in unison.
Comments