There’s something about birds.
When I’m sitting on the patio in the evening, watching the night fall, listening to the sounds of life wind down, or in some cases, just change from day to night, I love to try to identify the birdsong. Watch the various birds – robins, blue jays, wrens, the lovely mourning doves. I love how the birds have adopted our territory as their territory. We have so many kinds of birds. Cardinals, goldfinches, bluebirds, owls, even the dratted starlings in the gutters.
So the other night we found this lovely brown thrush on the ground. Apparently he’d broken his neck on a window on the greenhouse. So sad. Although the cycles of life and death are a given here in the country, each little animal has a pull for me.
I decided to capture this bird in a memorial drawing, watercolor with pen and ink. Taking the time to capture his tiny but strong feet. Thinking of them clinging to a twig in the winter. And admiring the bib of spotted feathers. His long black beak.
Although his heart beats no more, he shall live on in this small painting.
That’s the wise thrush; he sings each song twice over, lest you should think he never could recapture the first fine careless rapture!