A morning chat

This morning I enjoyed a chat with a yellow-breasted chat, although at the time I didn't even know his name. I had walked up the hill in search of prairie warblers, which may or may not be responsible for that distinctive upward-spiraling call I hear frequently up there. I may have seen a prairie warbler, but then again maybe not. It always astounds me how quickly a bird can invisibilize itself--there it sits, clear as day, right up on that branch, but then with barely a motion it disappears as if sliding sideways into another dimension. So once again I heard what may have been a whole mess of prairie warblers but when I finally manage to see them, I'll let you know.

Along the way I saw some other things I wasn't looking for: a clump of purple wisteria hanging from a tree so dead it lacked any hint of bark. A tiny butterfly flitting past so quickly that I couldn't even detect its color. A newly dead possum in the middle of the road, her sharp teeth looking lethal even in death, with one two three four five six SEVEN dead baby possums spread in an arc behind her. A pileated woodpecker shifting from tree to tree in the woods, complaining loudly about Hopeful's squirrel-chasing.

Then I heard this unusual birdsong, a jumble of musical notes interspersed with buzzing and ending with what sounded like a dog's bark. This bird made no effort to hide, sitting on a phone line and singing its heart out. Its throat puffed out every time it started to sing, and I marveled over how this delicate bird could produce so much sound. I had to look him up when I got home--yellow breast, white spectacles, crazy song = yellow-breasted chat. Hello, little bird. I hope we chat again.