“Cheese cheese burger….Cheese cheese burger….Cheese cheese burger.” Oh. My. God. That fudging bird. (I actually called it something a bit saltier, but I’m told this is potentially going to be published in a family friendly sort of thing so I beg forgiveness for my self-censoring.) Reaching blindly from my bed covers I grab at my watch-4:55. Fudge. I’m so tired, but I’m about as far north as you can go without being Canadian so the light of yet another summer day is coming through the window and I can’t sleep when there’s light. Can’t sleep much when there’s dark, either, but that’s another issue. And of course there’s the birds. Three weeks ago I couldn’t ID a single bird by ear. I still can’t ID many, but the ones Ive managed to memorize seem to be everywhere. And loud. Particularly this gosh darned mountain chickadee. I just learned what it was a couple days before and it seems intent on making sure I never forget it. Or ever get the sound of cheese burgers out of my head. Before 5 am a bird who sang “coffee coffee black as your mood,” would be a better one to hear.
Dressed all in green, in this new-old grove
are the trees, draped
in vines and moss from head to toe,
at their feet brilliant weeds and strange drab mushrooms grow.
What a place!
Wagtail, stone chit, black-headed gull, bold tiny robin gathering sheeps’ wool caught up in the wild rose that grows by the old, winding roads in Inishowen.