not counting crows

some days are for listening

When I’m in our tree- and bird-filled yard, or in the woods, I enjoy watching the birds and can now identify several of them by size, shape, and color. A flash of blue, yellow, or red here … a round little poof of gray or brown there.

But I don’t consider myself a Bird Watcher.

I’m not actually keeping a tally, or a count.

I’m more of a listener.

If I’m on a walk and hear an especially lovely song, I’ll stop and try to figure out who’s singing.

Perhaps it’s a song from the robins or a cardinal. Or a tiny wren.

The plaintive cooing of a mourning dove (which always reminds me of my grandparents’ house).

The call of a blue jay (which always reminds me of something, even though I can never quite remember what).

Or the caws, clicks, and trills of the chatty crows.

Sometimes it’s enough to just listen.

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