Place Entry 7

The return of the absent languages is perhaps of an even greater restorative power than the revival of color. In my mind, at least, it is more pleasurable as well. Even in the depths of suburbia, where I live, the triumphant songs are of some variance.


The robin's serenade, that patriotic hymn, is among the most easily recognized and iconic.

Di doo doo do di doo do do di doo do di doo di di doo do deeeii! An invigorating call to bury our heads in the moist green earth and tear from it the fatness, the plump, writhing serpents of the underground!


Of course, we cannot forget that boldly garbed singer of these temperate forests, who hardly fled the onslaught of winter, withstanding its chill with a vigor to match. He is a holy man of considerable rank. His humble tune can only be heard softly from the tops of tall oaks and their ilk, where even his vibrant crimson robe is sometimes difficult to see.

Tñeeeeeet, tñeeoot, tñeeoot. Tñeeoot, tñeeoot, tñeeoot. Tñeeeeeet, tñeeoot, tñeeoot. Pewt, Pewt, Pewt. His voice belies his abundant good looks.


And the marauder of this avian world! That seductive azure coat, sharply streaked with white and black, who ravages through bough and branch to wreak terrible havoc among his peers. I have not yet seen his handsomeness, but I know the jays are among us again.

Eeeñ! Eeeñ! Eeeñ! Woe and ill tidings to those that do not flee my path!


The familiar, lackadaisical murmur of the dove sounds as well, a gentle croon to sooth any of our distress.

Pwooogh, pwooogh, pwooogh. Pweeeiouough, pwooogh, pwooogh. All is well and let's relax.


Always among their own, their fiery bearded beaks belt a surprising, almost digital discourse. Gregarious fellows, they were among the first to welcome me here when I arrived.

Tsee, tsee, tsee, twaunt twaunnnt. Tseet, tsoot. They roam and gossip with ease and good cheer.


And there are others that have not yet returned, still braving the vast convexity of this wide, wide world with but claw and wing.