5-2-2008
From Henry David Thoreau’s Walden:
“Regularly at half-past seven, in one part of the summer, after the evening train had gone by, the whip-poor-wills chanted their vespers for half an hour, sitting on a stump by my door, or upon the ridge-pole of the house. They would begin to sing almost with as much precision as a clock, within five minutes of a particular time, referred to the setting of the sun, every evening” (Thoreau, 99).
In this passage, Thoreau starts a lovely prosaic passage about the sounds of different kinds of birds that he has observed. It reminds me of Annie Dillard’s Pilgrim at Tinker Creek when she contemplates why birds sing, or why their singing is beautiful. One of my favorite things to hear is the song of a bird. It puts me in such a cheery mood in the morning if I wake up to the warbling chirp of birds outside my window, and I listen to them as I walk outside on my way to do whatever I need to do that day. It is such a free song that birds sing. I don’t even know how I would notate it, and that makes it even more beautiful. Being a music nerd, I like to listen to music and pay attention to the way if makes me feel, rather than each particular note or rhythm or technical aspect of it. And the music of the birds always evokes in me pure joy and optimism. I also enjoy the mellow hoot of owls at night. In one of my previous blogs, I wrote about the magical mystery of nighttime. I failed to mention the marvelous hoot of the owl, a grand excitement to me and my sister when we were children. My father would whisper “listen! There’s an owl nearby!” And my sister and I would plunge into silence and listen intently in awe and wonder of the beautiful mysterious night. The sound came straight out of darkness, and I would try to picture in my mind the slick feathers and wide eyes of the owl, perched on a branch somewhere over our heads. It had so much power over us. The song of an owl is a more melancholy song than that of the morning birds, but beautiful all the same. Thoreau describes it wonderfully: “Yet I love to hear their wailing, their doleful responses, trilled along the woodside; reminding me sometimes of music and singing birds; as if it were the dark and tearful side of music, the regrets and sighs that would fain be sung” (Thoreau, 99-100). Listening to the music of nature is one of the greatest things I have learned from my father. He always pointed out the cicadas and the crickets and the owls and the wind…those sounds have such a comforting effect on me now, since I connect them to these bonding times with my sister and father. It is interesting how the things I love most about nature are connected somehow to childhood memories. I think that is part of the reason why I love those aspects of nature so much. Those euphoric memories create comfort whenever I encounter the same aspects of nature. It is grounding and calming and de-stressifying. And I love it.
From Henry David Thoreau’s Walden:
“Regularly at half-past seven, in one part of the summer, after the evening train had gone by, the whip-poor-wills chanted their vespers for half an hour, sitting on a stump by my door, or upon the ridge-pole of the house. They would begin to sing almost with as much precision as a clock, within five minutes of a particular time, referred to the setting of the sun, every evening” (Thoreau, 99).
In this passage, Thoreau starts a lovely prosaic passage about the sounds of different kinds of birds that he has observed. It reminds me of Annie Dillard’s Pilgrim at Tinker Creek when she contemplates why birds sing, or why their singing is beautiful. One of my favorite things to hear is the song of a bird. It puts me in such a cheery mood in the morning if I wake up to the warbling chirp of birds outside my window, and I listen to them as I walk outside on my way to do whatever I need to do that day. It is such a free song that birds sing. I don’t even know how I would notate it, and that makes it even more beautiful. Being a music nerd, I like to listen to music and pay attention to the way if makes me feel, rather than each particular note or rhythm or technical aspect of it. And the music of the birds always evokes in me pure joy and optimism. I also enjoy the mellow hoot of owls at night. In one of my previous blogs, I wrote about the magical mystery of nighttime. I failed to mention the marvelous hoot of the owl, a grand excitement to me and my sister when we were children. My father would whisper “listen! There’s an owl nearby!” And my sister and I would plunge into silence and listen intently in awe and wonder of the beautiful mysterious night. The sound came straight out of darkness, and I would try to picture in my mind the slick feathers and wide eyes of the owl, perched on a branch somewhere over our heads. It had so much power over us. The song of an owl is a more melancholy song than that of the morning birds, but beautiful all the same. Thoreau describes it wonderfully: “Yet I love to hear their wailing, their doleful responses, trilled along the woodside; reminding me sometimes of music and singing birds; as if it were the dark and tearful side of music, the regrets and sighs that would fain be sung” (Thoreau, 99-100). Listening to the music of nature is one of the greatest things I have learned from my father. He always pointed out the cicadas and the crickets and the owls and the wind…those sounds have such a comforting effect on me now, since I connect them to these bonding times with my sister and father. It is interesting how the things I love most about nature are connected somehow to childhood memories. I think that is part of the reason why I love those aspects of nature so much. Those euphoric memories create comfort whenever I encounter the same aspects of nature. It is grounding and calming and de-stressifying. And I love it.
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