The mockingbird

For several years we had a mockingbird who would perch at the top of the utility pole holding the wires that bring electricity to our home and sing his heart out.  Not only did he sing, but he did a certain dance and a few acrobatics while he was at it.  In 2010 I shot a video of him.  It's at quite a distance, but you can see and hear him pretty well.  Ignore the smudge on the camera... back when I took a camera horseback riding with me in the early mornings, moisture tended to gather inside my cameras and ruin them after a couple of years.  Anyhow, meet Mr. Mockingbird: 



For at least the last two years, Mr. Mockingbird has failed to show up.  I've missed him sorely.  

A couple of evenings ago I was getting eggs at the chicken house, stepped out to go to the house, and heard the familiar sound of a mockingbird singing without, seemingly, stopping to take a breath.  I had heard him a couple of times lately, but this time I was in the mood to track him down.  I looked in the direction from which the sound was coming.

It seemed to be coming from the vicinity of that big barrel.

I walked about halfway down that line of trees before I spotted him at the tip-top of the furthest Norway Spruce, a tree about ten feet tall.  He was singing his heart out.  

I have no idea whether this is the same bird, but I know I've heard his songs coming from that direction twice, so maybe that's his chosen location.  I am thankful for his return, because he makes me smile.

Now if only I'd hear a whippoorwill.  One of my fondest childhood memories is one of lying at Grandma's house on a featherbed, on an early summer evening near an open window, listening to the whippoorwills across the road singing their unique song.  We've lived here 41 years now, I've only heard a whippoorwill once on our property, back when I had my cabin in the woods and spent a night there.  I wonder if I could google up a 10-minute recording of whippoorwills singing.  I could listen to it sometimes as I'm going to sleep.  I've lamented their demise before on this blog.  

Is it a sign of old age when you spend time thinking about things (and people) you can no longer see and hear?