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The song of the wood thrush is the most beautiful bird sound to be heard in eastern woods. The bird’s serene, measured and unhurried notes float down from summer woods. They come from nowhere and everywhere. The bird sings in the half-light of dawn but most often at the end of the day when shadows are long and light is fading. How many times have I stood — stopped in my tracks — and listened to this most beautiful of bird music? For me, it breaths contentment.
President Theodore Roosevelt once wrote that trying to describe the Grand Canyon bankrupted the English language. The tranquil notes of this thrush have defied many writer’s ability to find words to describe the sound.
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