Surveying my small patch of yard in a newish subdivision one chill sunny morn, I was momentarily disappointed to note the absence of any birds in view. No mourning doves, no goldfinches. Not even one of the house sparrows that shelters in a neighbor's shrub.But the disappointment abated when I heard the cheery song of a cardinal in a distance, echoed by another from the opposite direction. Nearby, though unseen, I could hear the insistent, unmelodic chirps of those house sparrows. Overhead, the sweet twittering of an unseen goldfinch, and from the block behind me somewhere a mourning dove's graceful coo carried across the street.
So much of nature can be observed and understood through sound. Along the Greenway, you may hear the constant chip call of cardinals long before you catch sight of them, maybe a trio chasing
one another up and down along the trail--behaving very differently than a male perched high on a branch, singing.In the spring and summer you might hear the glassy clinking of cricket frogs, the sustained trill of toads, or the throaty bellow of a bullfrog without ever catching sight of the amphibious crooners. The deeper buzz of a bumblebee stands out from that of a honeybee, and any buzz serves as a gentle reminder to slow down and observe the flowers as you pass. You will hear countless katydids as you stroll but rarely catch sight of one.
The symphony of nature is all around us, every day. It may fall silent momentarily, or it may ebb and flow in complexity as artists come and go throughout the year. But it is a constant reminder of the neighborhood we share with thousands of other species. How could one feel lonely amid so much life?
