A Morning of Birdsong
April 19, 2026
I set an alarm for five and walked to the river path before sunrise. The dawn chorus starts in the dark: first a robin, then a blackbird, then dozens of voices I could not name at all.
By the time the sun cleared the hills, I had counted wrens, chaffinches, a song thrush repeating every phrase three times, and a woodpecker drumming somewhere out of sight.
Learning bird songs is slow, patient work. I try to learn just one new song each spring. This year it was the blackcap, a bright, hurried warble that ends in a clear whistle.