Cross posted from my Bowen Island Journal, my long running blog about the place where I live:
Another beautiful morning here: clear and still. In the dawn chorus, there are a pair of chickadees nesting across the road from us that are the champion singers. They are doing their little call which is a two note descending tweet-tweet. One chickadee does it and the other follows on with the same song, but sung a note lower. Their rhythm is steady, and when they get out of synch, they stop and start again.
In the meantime, the crows and ravens are cawing, the flickers are drumming, towhees wheezing in the undergrowth. The nature of spring means that everyone is repeating their various sounds on a regular interval, and the forest is full of rhythm. Once in a while, warblers and wrens let loose with solos over top of the whole thing. It’s as if someone has sampled all of these birds and put them into a bed track. You could rhyme over top of it easily. The rhythm shifts and changessubtly but it is so engaging that I lay in my sleeping bag for a full hour listening raptly to the chorus, and feeling all of these beats beneath it.