Aubade

Aubade is the traditional word for morning music (as opposed to Nocturne or evening music). The days of the full Dawn Chorus have slipped away but there is still a little sequence of sunrise serenades coming in through the bedroom window, especially on clear, bright mornings of which yesterday was an excellent example. The first -- or at least the first that I hear -- is a loud Carolina Wren sitting on a fence just outside the window; this is a bird with one of the loudest, most characteristic and persistent songs of all. No Robins any more; perhaps they are too busy with their nestlings. But I do hear an abbreviated version of the chirping Purple Martin Dawn Song more or less overhead; these birds are coming out of what appears to be a self-induced torpor during the recent run of bad weather. Next on the program are the hoarse cackles of the Great Crested Flycatcher and the melodious little trill of the Pine Warbler in the woods just north of the house. The other wren, House Wren, is a little more distant; he is still calling but not as persistently and not always from the vicinity of the neighbor's Hansel-and-Gretel bird houses where had previously staked out here territory. There are at least two Cardinals calling -- one near the house, the other a distance away; these Cardinals are working on their second brood and they tend to take the highest tree tops in the neighborhood to proclaim their availability. A brief Baltimore Oriole signature tune (mostly they are very quiet now), a couple of distant Black-capped Chickadee whistles, a few modest Tufted Titmouse peals, and a calling overhead Osprey are next. Finally, a single rat-tat-tat of an undetermined woodpecker completes the rise-and-shine recital.

This morning? A very different sort of Aubade: the heavy pelt of raindrops accompanied by thunder rumbles.

Eric Salzman