Tuesday, 7 May 2013

Oh not them again

Our friend Jonathan, super birder, bird watcher, bird specialist —not sure what he would like it termed as —rolls his eyes at the mention of these birds. Every year around this time the Nightingales return to fill our nights with liquid song and a lot of the day too. Every year I am entranced by the sounds. J finds them too invasive: it's true the other songsters are a little drowned out, but it is a magical set of bird lyrics.
These early spring days are marked by bird call: after the all night serenade, the blackbirds take over at about 6.10 am, then a general madness until the sun starts peeping over the parasol pine tree. Mostly silence for a while, then the swallows start up, dipping and swooping, their wheezing cries filling the air.
Sitting here writing now I can hear blue tits, sparrows, possibly a distant thrush and yes, at least one pair of nightingales outdoing everyone else.
Here's a picture courtesy of google images (sorry, not sure who's it is) as I failed to get a good picture of one of these birds. Despite their sparkling song, the plumage is a palette of cream and brown, not wonderful mauves, deep iridescent sea green and vibrant orange as I always like to imagine. They blend into the matted twigs and branches of the hillside behind the house, almost impossible to see, only to hear.


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