Hermit Thrush


This morning, I identified a Hermit Thrush pair in the brown, intertwining branches of a leafless bush … through the tule fog … that was condensing and dripping from the trees on the edge of an open meadow. I noticed their little gray-brown heads, the light patches under their eyes, their spotted breasts, their gray wings that taper down to layers of color, and, of course, their rusty-red rumps. They kept lifting their tails to help them balance on the branch, which made me think they might be wrens, but there is no doubt that these were Hermit Thrushes. They were quiet this morning, when I saw them and they saw me, but the song of the Hermit Thrush is beautiful.


Are you in love? I know it is none of my business. I am a stranger. Just because I am walking through the tule fog, and I see the two of you together, does not mean that I have a right to ask. But I can’t help but wonder … Are you planning to build a nest? Do you, young mother, have eggs inside of you now, growing and getting ready for the first birth? (Avian birth! Every bird is born twice.) My soul is drawn to your silence, especially knowing that you are singers. When a singer is silent, the song is waiting.

I wish I could ask –
the question on my lips like
a bright kiss before

it happens!





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