Wednesday, March 16, 2011. . .
THE WRITING. . .A plugging-along day, touch-and-go moments of tying some loose threads, letting others dangle and tangle.
THE DETAILS. . .Whoa! Middle-of-the-night birdsong! I utterly adore this on the rare occasions it happens! It went on from 11:15 p.m. until after 1 a.m. The birds were so happy. I dozed, awoke, dozed, awoke, not wanting to miss it.
I suspect it was an end-of-winter party for them. They’re all packing up to head to their summer home in Coal Valley, Illinois. =) What a treat to be invited!
In The Darkling Thrush Thomas Hardy writes about that bird’s “full hearted evensong” at the end of a day:
“That I could think there trembl’d through
His happy good-night air
Some blessed Hope, whereof he knew
And I was unaware.”
Apparently Hardy was lamenting that he did not have that Hope, but that’s not my point. His words capture the essence of birdsong: a Hope that lives in a creature doing exactly what his true self prompts him to do.