Often times I will just read when both voice and words are offered. But not you. Your voice is the poem. Your voice is the melody of ten thousand birds. Thank you.
Birds have always been my comfort and my messengers of hope. In my moments of fear or doubt, I find a feather in my path and I know I’m going the right way. My child is named Sparrow, a soul that flew to me when I didn’t realize how much I needed that gift. Birds are singing outside my window as I write this, telling me spring is on its way.
Thank you, Andrea, for your writing. Thanks for leaving hopeful feathers in my path to keep me going.
The birds have been speaking to me for several years (all of my life, actually, but I only learned to listen again recently). The hummingbirds teach me about warriorship and healing, about looking delicate and being tough as nails. Finches tell me about using my voice and the joy of being part of a flock (and bushtits take this to a whole other level!) Chickadees speak of curiosity and fearlessness. Cooper’s hawks have whispered to me of hunger and precision, of needing to kill to survive. And of course the corvids, my loves. They teach me their names, at least variations that I can pronounce with my human tongue. Maximilian the Magnificent, the black billed magpie who somehow made it all the way across the mountains from Eastern Washington to settle in our neighborhood, told me about adventures and loneliness and being frenemies with the neighborhood crows. We played games together and he took big splashy baths during molting season. Then he moved on to another part of the neighborhood, leaving me pining after him like a rock star’s groupie. Midnight and Lucky (and sometimes their son Junior), my crow friends, have visited me every day for four years and follow me and my dog Bodhi on walks. They teach me about loyalty, family, community, and adaptability. They boldly ask for what they want. They demonstrate calling for help when needed and acting in solidarity, and also clearly stating personal boundaries when feeling the need for space.
All of the birds wake me up, get me out of my head and into the present moment. It’s impossible to hold on to a bad mood in their presence. They have asked me to share their beauty with other humans, and they’ve been teaching me photography. I wish I could share some of that here.
I have always felt relief, safe, and comfort when I hear the birds singing in the mornings. When I hear them it’s as if my body says “you made it through the dark night. You’re safe.”
I woke hours after dawn, truly grateful you were there to receive the poem from the birds, as only you were worthy of interpreting their beautiful message. So you became my morning heart song as I lay next to my dog with the promise that tomorrow morning we'll hear the birds for ourselves. "Sing off key and call it a yet-to-be-invented note." I flocking love you.
I read that birdsong calms us because it’s a sign that predators are not near and humans have adapted to trusting that. I think I read that in Saving Time by Jenny Odell.
Your title caught my eye. I am so thankful that I heard this today. Nature isn't something out there. We are part of it all. I often feel in communion with the pelicans that fly by on my dawn walks on the cliffs above the ocean. Yes to owning our own wildness and feeling our belonging in the big picture of things. Yes to "Human awe is an endangered species. Do not let your astonishment go extinct." Such wise words. Thank you!
What a gorgeous poem - like a love letter from the birds! The timing feels delightfully synchronous, since I’ve been feeling so full of wonder and joy at the returning of migratory birds. I went out for a walk yesterday morning and the fog was so thick, I couldn’t see a thing, but the air was filled with the songs of invisible birds. I shared a short poem inspired by that experience here - https://open.substack.com/pub/100poems/p/voyeurism-lets-go-peeping?r=7ymx1&utm_medium=ios Admittedly, it’s a more humble offering than yours, but I’m all for the idea of singing off key and calling it a new note.
This morning it was the red-winged blackbird perched atop the bare, brown, spindly branches of the cherry tree outside my window, framed against the first blue sky I've seen in what feels like months. He trilled and trilled as if the morning depended on it, and it did! What was he saying? Spring is coming! While a fair number winter here, the return of the RWBBs in flocks is my first real harbinger of the imminent change of season, and lately, gloriously, my mornings are filling more and more with their abundant pronouncements of, "We're baaaaaaaack!"
I often wonder what the birds are telling us! I love this! We have a murder of crows living in our neighborhood. They come by in the afternoon to perch in a tree across from our home, or in our backyard tree. My daughter has been feeding them nuts. Crows are so intelligent and inquisitive. They seem to have assigned one crow who comes to check if there will be nuts today. The selected crow lands on our front walk or back roof because the second story of our home overlooks this portion of roof and the crow can peer into our shared office where she is often doing homework. I’ve heard about crows actually knocking on window panes to see if the humans will come out to interact. Ours don’t do that, yet. This crow will call out and I wonder if it is calling my daughter or to the others. When she strews nuts all over for them this one crow watches her, head tilted, silent. She comes back inside and the murder descends from the tree. They watch us watching them. I wish I could speak their language. I hope they never move on. We enjoy interacting with them so much! ❤️🐦⬛
I find great comfort in birdsong especially in the morning when they are so LOUD. My favorite though is the call of a flock of geese. One of my favorite things in the world. I have a couple of geese that fly over every morning and every day around dusk. They are always together, and they always fly over the house in the same spot. This has been going on since I moved here 6 years ago.
Wow. Having this in audio is everything. What a beautiful voice and moving poem. I can’t tell you how much I needed this today. Birds are my spirit animal and I was feeling melancholy today. I just came back from a walk to find a cardinal tapping on the side mirror of my car and then it just sat there until I got in my car. I knew immediately it was my team of light on the other side letting me know I’m not alone, and I’m heard. Thank you for sharing this gift with us. You rock!
Often times I will just read when both voice and words are offered. But not you. Your voice is the poem. Your voice is the melody of ten thousand birds. Thank you.
Birds have always been my comfort and my messengers of hope. In my moments of fear or doubt, I find a feather in my path and I know I’m going the right way. My child is named Sparrow, a soul that flew to me when I didn’t realize how much I needed that gift. Birds are singing outside my window as I write this, telling me spring is on its way.
Thank you, Andrea, for your writing. Thanks for leaving hopeful feathers in my path to keep me going.
The birds have been speaking to me for several years (all of my life, actually, but I only learned to listen again recently). The hummingbirds teach me about warriorship and healing, about looking delicate and being tough as nails. Finches tell me about using my voice and the joy of being part of a flock (and bushtits take this to a whole other level!) Chickadees speak of curiosity and fearlessness. Cooper’s hawks have whispered to me of hunger and precision, of needing to kill to survive. And of course the corvids, my loves. They teach me their names, at least variations that I can pronounce with my human tongue. Maximilian the Magnificent, the black billed magpie who somehow made it all the way across the mountains from Eastern Washington to settle in our neighborhood, told me about adventures and loneliness and being frenemies with the neighborhood crows. We played games together and he took big splashy baths during molting season. Then he moved on to another part of the neighborhood, leaving me pining after him like a rock star’s groupie. Midnight and Lucky (and sometimes their son Junior), my crow friends, have visited me every day for four years and follow me and my dog Bodhi on walks. They teach me about loyalty, family, community, and adaptability. They boldly ask for what they want. They demonstrate calling for help when needed and acting in solidarity, and also clearly stating personal boundaries when feeling the need for space.
All of the birds wake me up, get me out of my head and into the present moment. It’s impossible to hold on to a bad mood in their presence. They have asked me to share their beauty with other humans, and they’ve been teaching me photography. I wish I could share some of that here.
I have always felt relief, safe, and comfort when I hear the birds singing in the mornings. When I hear them it’s as if my body says “you made it through the dark night. You’re safe.”
"Just wing it!" I love you.
I woke hours after dawn, truly grateful you were there to receive the poem from the birds, as only you were worthy of interpreting their beautiful message. So you became my morning heart song as I lay next to my dog with the promise that tomorrow morning we'll hear the birds for ourselves. "Sing off key and call it a yet-to-be-invented note." I flocking love you.
My heart... this poem is my new life anthem. Thank you, Andrea. ❤️🩹♥️♥️♥️♥️
I read that birdsong calms us because it’s a sign that predators are not near and humans have adapted to trusting that. I think I read that in Saving Time by Jenny Odell.
Your title caught my eye. I am so thankful that I heard this today. Nature isn't something out there. We are part of it all. I often feel in communion with the pelicans that fly by on my dawn walks on the cliffs above the ocean. Yes to owning our own wildness and feeling our belonging in the big picture of things. Yes to "Human awe is an endangered species. Do not let your astonishment go extinct." Such wise words. Thank you!
What a gorgeous poem - like a love letter from the birds! The timing feels delightfully synchronous, since I’ve been feeling so full of wonder and joy at the returning of migratory birds. I went out for a walk yesterday morning and the fog was so thick, I couldn’t see a thing, but the air was filled with the songs of invisible birds. I shared a short poem inspired by that experience here - https://open.substack.com/pub/100poems/p/voyeurism-lets-go-peeping?r=7ymx1&utm_medium=ios Admittedly, it’s a more humble offering than yours, but I’m all for the idea of singing off key and calling it a new note.
This morning it was the red-winged blackbird perched atop the bare, brown, spindly branches of the cherry tree outside my window, framed against the first blue sky I've seen in what feels like months. He trilled and trilled as if the morning depended on it, and it did! What was he saying? Spring is coming! While a fair number winter here, the return of the RWBBs in flocks is my first real harbinger of the imminent change of season, and lately, gloriously, my mornings are filling more and more with their abundant pronouncements of, "We're baaaaaaaack!"
I often wonder what the birds are telling us! I love this! We have a murder of crows living in our neighborhood. They come by in the afternoon to perch in a tree across from our home, or in our backyard tree. My daughter has been feeding them nuts. Crows are so intelligent and inquisitive. They seem to have assigned one crow who comes to check if there will be nuts today. The selected crow lands on our front walk or back roof because the second story of our home overlooks this portion of roof and the crow can peer into our shared office where she is often doing homework. I’ve heard about crows actually knocking on window panes to see if the humans will come out to interact. Ours don’t do that, yet. This crow will call out and I wonder if it is calling my daughter or to the others. When she strews nuts all over for them this one crow watches her, head tilted, silent. She comes back inside and the murder descends from the tree. They watch us watching them. I wish I could speak their language. I hope they never move on. We enjoy interacting with them so much! ❤️🐦⬛
Beautiful. Thank you for the reminder.
I wept at the beauty of this poem. I love those birds at dawn and I love Andrea for reminding me who I am.
I find great comfort in birdsong especially in the morning when they are so LOUD. My favorite though is the call of a flock of geese. One of my favorite things in the world. I have a couple of geese that fly over every morning and every day around dusk. They are always together, and they always fly over the house in the same spot. This has been going on since I moved here 6 years ago.
Wow. Having this in audio is everything. What a beautiful voice and moving poem. I can’t tell you how much I needed this today. Birds are my spirit animal and I was feeling melancholy today. I just came back from a walk to find a cardinal tapping on the side mirror of my car and then it just sat there until I got in my car. I knew immediately it was my team of light on the other side letting me know I’m not alone, and I’m heard. Thank you for sharing this gift with us. You rock!