I'm off to Maine for the first time this season...the chilly evenings remain, but the days have crossed the fine line into being warmer, and it's time to open up for another season. In Maine, the rumble of the lobster boats is the second thing I hear each morning. Before the boats begin their pleasant murmuring, out on the water, in the near darkness that is not yet morning, something else makes the first sound of the day.
Sunrise in Maine
Just after four AM, a solo begins: The sweet and earnest melody of a solitary song bird. He leads off on his own, often for several minutes, before another joins the chorus. It seems to me, that he is, in fact, singing. This is not a typical bird call; there is no "chirping" to speak of. No mate replies from across the woods. Rather, it is truly a song and performance that provides a soundtrack that precedes the sun's first rays breaking across the Atlantic. Perhaps he is serenading the moon; saying goodnight as it fades to another sector of the planet, rising over the opposite hemisphere in silence. Sometimes, especially now in the spring, the wind caries the conversations and songs of all the birds, and projects them like an amphitheater, acting as a sort of "auto-tune"in a modern recording studio, that makes even starlets--who have no business singing--sound passably good.
This particular bird moves around a bit between verses. Beginning first in the tall pines, then up on the roof, and eventually over to the rocky caves, he works the room, so-to-speak. I've no idea what kind of bird it is, or what it looks like, and I never hear his song again except for these very early morning performances. I suppose he might work the whole coast, like some transient performer...Perhaps someone down on Cape Elizabeth hears him every day while eating lunch in her garden, as he makes the "bird circuit". I hope he is cozy and safe during these still chilly nights; I would happily tip him generously for his daily warble, and look forward to hearing him all season long...
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