I make exceptions for certain people.
And dogs.
And always birdsong.
But this morning I would welcome the company of a serious bird brain, someone who could tell me who’s singing from the top of every tree, following me with very obvious intent to serenade.
The sound is too big for a chickadee dee dee dee.
And it’s not a robin, or a cardinal (& so ends my song recognition repertoire).
A botanist would be handy too. I’d ask what is this shrub in pink bloom that every year I swear I’ll make a note to go back and find when it’s fruiting so I know what kind of shrub it is and then always forget to check…
But the only person I see is a guy standing at the creek, facing the morning sun, just standing there, and then he raises his arms in salutation.
I recognize the impulse.
And so I walk very quietly by…
I share your passion for quietly communing with the real world. Sometimes, especially in winter, the only sound is my own breathing. Great, evocative photos, my friend.
There’s noting like a winter forest for silence. I envy you being so close to that.
I see paintings everywhere . Love these photos .