I got a wonderful reminder that spring is in "full bloom" around here. NOT a flowering tree, which there are plenty... This one was heard. NOPE, not a chorus of peppers being all froggy in the swamp spring head. Those little fellows have been busy "Chrrrrrrippp-ing" for a couple of weeks already. This sound came from the most vocal of all night time birds.
As I walked in the pre-dawn darkness to the truck this morning, I stopped still in my tracks. The repeating of his night song was echoing in the crisp air.
Whip - poor - will, whip - poor- will, whip - poor - will...
lather - rinse - repeat...
I remember the pre-air conditioned summers of my youth, with my head practically laying on the sill the screened window. Hoping to catch a fleeing breeze on my face, as I sweated myself to sleep. And the voice of Poor Will, resounding in the hardwoods.
Whip - poor - will, whip - poor- will, whip - poor - will...
Whippoorwills are an elusive bird. Only once have I seen the muddy feathers of Mr. Will. On the dirt road leading away from the house - the reflective orange of the eye, give away his location before I could even begin to make out the outline against the red clay. And flight was taken before a good look was obtained.
So here is Spring. I placed my backpack in the truck, cupped my ears and squatted down to listen...
Image of a "poised" Whippoorwill by Mike Danzenbaker
