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Showing posts from May, 2018


Poetic people go on about the nightingale's song.  Not that we hear it down here in Devon.  But I listened to one singing in an old oak tree at my daughter's in Essex, and - yes - it really was beautiful. But this spring and early summer I've been struck by how lovely is the song of the blackbird. There are so many sounds, carefully - almost, it seems, thoughtfully - phrased. We have one who performs from our roof ridge, as high as he can get so that the song can be heard at its best, perhaps also by as many as possible.  He can be interrupted, when he flies off with a harsh alarm call, but most evenings (and probably mornings too) he takes up position, and delivers. Actually, it's much more than a straight delivery.  What made me think there was thought, indeed listening of his own, was that he was creating gaps, silences that were as important as the sounds.  And I thought I could hear another blackbird not far away responding, who for his part was