house wren

Of all the birds sighted this morning the most musical for me was the house wren. Perched on some bare branches among an apple bough with blossoms knotting it all along, Mr. Wren sang a solo of musical trills repeating them again and again as if in oncore. Just one should have brought Mozart, Bach, Handel, Beethoven, Brahms out to listen and hear this tiny bird utter what must be praise. The scientifically minded would perhaps say that the song is simply mating music---but I think there is more to it---perhaps thanksgiving and praise going on underneath the feathers. Thanksgiving and praise for wings, for the sun, for apple blossom nectar, for the delight of notes that dance, and yes, for a thorax that enchants another of the same species to join in the nuptuals of an ornithological marriage.

Once it was said that Bach was a good enough reason to believe in a Maker of beauty. I would submit also the little house wren. Such finer notes I have not heard.