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Posts Tagged ‘wrens’

SpringTreeBlossomsI would tell you that “two way streets are two way streets”, in a way more meaningful than “Brexit means Brexit” or “OATH-with-a-blue-colon says away more about that merger than anyone should admit in polite company.”

I would tell you that the sunrise has shifted northwards, such that the glare can still wake me, but I don’t get any of the lovely gold-red glow to go with my insomnia and the boisterous dawn chorus of [possibly tasty] wrens, titmice, and robins.

I would tell you that taxes are preferable to death, at least so long as the arts and sciences still get funding.Purple croci pair.jpg

I would tell you tulips, and daffodils, and finally, blessedly, honeybees and carpenter bees; crinkled green leaves on the raspberry canes and tongue-colored fists of peony leaves punching up at the sky.

I would tell you that I wish people would say plainly what they want other people to know, but I have this fondness for truth, so we might need to edit that wish a bit, depending on who is doing the speaking at any given time.

TulipContortion.jpg

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[with apologies to Gilchrist’s SSAA arrangement of Edgar Allen Poe’s “The Bells”, available here]

In the early morning light, hear the wrens…
I am sure they take delight
In the metal that they bend

To stake out their territories
They must warble, they must boast
While the humans trying to sleep all dream
Of having them on toast!

How they kvell kvell kvell!
It’s a special kind of hell!
Oh the tintinabulation of the Troglodytidae Nation
It’s the wrens wrens wrens wrens
Wrens wrens wrens wrens wrens!

Google-WrenBar1

Courtesy of Google image search; all photo copyrights assuredly belong to other people. The wrens are suspicious of the whole arrangement.

Even in the dimming light, hear the wrens
They’re an auditory blight
And it never seems to end

They are perky, they are chipper,
They can keep this up all night!
They are tiny feathered creatures who
Cannot afford to fight

So they yell yell yell!
It’s a special kind of hell!
Oh the tintinabulation of the Troglodytidae Nation
It’s the wrens wrens wrens wrens
Wrens wrens wrens wrens WRENS!

wrens-scolding-KOP

This image of wrens is my responsibility. The wrens may or may not believe I have taken that seriously enough….

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Courtesy of Google image search; all photo copyrights assuredly belong to other people. The wrens are suspicious of this whole arrangement.

Wrens are not especially subtle about their curiousity.  They want to know, they want you to know that they want to know, and, further, they want you to know that they think you are holding out on them.

Other birds certainly make commentary — the catbird would like to know why, the robins are quite interested in the grubs and other things that creepeth and crawleth in the wake of a gardener’s efforts, and the titmice are engaged in loud and fluttery debates over who is the Greyest, who is the Fluffiest, who is the very Finest, Flappiest, Screechiest titmouse of them all?

Wrens may want to announce news — their presence, their beautiful nestlings that you should admire and acclaim but NOT look at — and they will go on with territorial songs for hours.  But — and maybe this has something to do with the times of year I see them, or the melancholy that sometimes coincides — it strikes me that they also want to be remembered at some indeterminate time in the future.  As if, and this is ridiculous, as there are (as far as I know) no heirloom maps I need translated at midnight, nor mountain treasures to unlock, they think they might be useful to me somewhere down the line.

“We are wrens. We are legion.  Remember us now and in your time of trial…”

On the other hand, they do like knowing, much as I do.  Maybe at some point we will have something more detailed to say to each other…

This image of wrens is my responsibility. The wrens are not convinced I have taken that seriously enough….

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