I was up pretty much all night last night and at just about 4 a.m. sharp, a bird started singing, calling. Not a smear of blue dawn yet in the sky. He – I’m quite sure it was a he – did his particular warble for 15 minutes until I began to notice that he was still the only bird calling. Then his tone got slightly more terse; rushed, and then he did one very noticeably strained call, then one normal one, and then stopped.
Sky (aka “Little Bird”), 2003.
I swear, this next to last tune in his 20-or-so minute repetitious song was one of pure impatience; an “umpphh! Why am I not getting any response yet?!”. Not frustration so much as impatience. This came across so clearly in the little song because it was so constant and steady for so long prior. But it the sincerity of feeling came through so loud and clear to human ears that I couldn’t help but smile for to take note of sounds I hear every morning and usually take for granted.