Swainson’s Thrush 5/1/15

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During a quiet snowfall the other morning, I stepped out to commune with nature and spooked two thrushes and what I think was a Lapland Longspur that had been resting up against the cabin. The longspur disappeared completely but the thrushy birds just flew around the corner. They seemed attracted to the grassy patches under the wide eaves where only a dusting of snow was accumulating, and stayed huddled up against the foundation. Inside, I looked down through a window and there one was, Swainson’s Thrush, common enough in the woods here and usually singing sweet fluted notes mornings and evenings, now confined to whatever bare ground they can find until the slopes open up. I could see the “WTF?” speech ballon over its head. No worms and bugs to root for under all that snow—and no flutey songs for snowfalls—no matter how lovely.

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