On song

There are no tickets for this concert, no scramble for good seats, no angry glares in the direction of invisible people who haven’t turned off their mobiles. I can listen to it from my bedroom, but it’s much nicer to do so sitting in the uncomfortable white plastic chair on the back porch. The small feathers on the magpie robin’s throat rise and fall with its song.

There are scientific theories about why birds sing, but listening to the clear stream of notes, I’m unable to imagine that this bird is doing it for anything other than sheer joy.

velvety caterpillar

the magpie robin

cocks its head