Sharp swift turns of chirping engages me as I write from my bedroom, where a Mockingbird resides just outside serenading me with his song. He’s up at all hours, I often wonder if he sleeps at all. I once read that a Mockingbird sings about 200 songs, made up of sounds he hears; sleeping most of the day and singing at night. When bachelorhood life is over, he steps in line with the human work world and sings during the day instead of at night. So I’d guess this little guy outside my window is either paired with a mate or a player, living a bachelor life and have a mate, OR…there is another bachelor Mockingbird near by waiting for his mate to respond to his song. Nevertheless, he sings and I delight in the music he makes.
I grew up in Michigan and remember a time in the summer when I’d hear birds at all hours of the day. At night the Whipper Whirl would make its presence known by singing in repeat fashion, one would wonder if a record was broken. Once I was so fed up with its song on autopilot that I opened my window and shouted, “SHUT UP!” I couldn’t stand the repeat anymore. Silence filled the air, then he started again. The Mockingbird is nothing like the Whipper Whirl, its song filled with many tones, no song is alike.
So, sing my feathered friend, tell me what you hear.
Keystroke Stories 