“If I speak in the tongues of men or of angels, but do not have love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing. If I give all I possess to the poor and give over my body to hardship that I may boast, but do not have love, I gain nothing.” 1 Corinthians 13
Speaking for myself, I cannot fathom all “mysteries.” I can only give thanks for the blessings I’ve been given.
I think of this as I savor the quietness of my backyard. Last week, I heard the season’s first brown thrasher on my block, with his lusty and complicated song. Wednesday, the first house wren heralded his arrival, and Jim came home from fishing with stories of a mystery bird call they’d heard and a request that I try to solve that puzzle. I deduced black-billed cuckoo and played the call for him on Audubon Pro app on my Google Pixel phone.
This time of year, we do not play the stereo nor listen to much music. Instead we listen to the birdsong or just … nothing. Sometimes, we have the flyover of an jet, the occasional National Guard helicopter, our cell phone’s insistent jangle, the neighbor’s yapping daschund (the poor beast hooked up on a leash ALL DAY LONG).
Mostly it is instead the mourning dove, the chipping sparrow and my favorite, the house wren. The wrens are busily adding twigs to the wren house on our back patio. As I write this, I’m listening to his complicated and joyful song, over and over and over, which he will sing without ceasing all the daylight hours for the next couple of months.
Gentle reader, it is my hope for you that you enjoyed some sunshine in your day. I’ve poured a glass of wine and I’m now going to enjoy it on my patio, and listen to the birds.