The Evening Song of Thrushes

There is something about the deep forest at night that can fill the heart with dread. In the full light of day a walk in the woods can be a pleasant adventure, but if twilight comes and you are still far from home, the mood can change. Then a monster could lurk beneath each towering tree.

The fairy tales about children lost in the woods are too innumerable for this fearful response not to be deep and primitive. It prevents us from experiencing one of the greatest pleasures of the forest. So instead of giving in to the fear, pause and listen to the creatures who do live in the wood.

Would you like to see the elves dance in the clearings, or hear them sing in clear ethereal voices? Then a walk in the forest at twilight is just the thing. Almost all birds are quieter in the heat of the afternoon. For some species, the urge to sing returns in the evening, and they become the elves of the forest.

The most elfin of all is the thrush. It sits still on a branch near the forest floor as the last light of day filters down through the trees. It could be a dead stub or leaf without motion on a windless evening, until its bill opens just a bit and the throat begins to bulge and undulate. Hush and listen. The magical thrush is tuning up.

Then you hear the song that soothes even the monster's heart. Of the three thrushes that live in our local forests, which voice is the fairest of all? Is it the veery, with its downward spiraling tones, as if singing from the bottom of a deep well? The veery is an abundant woodland bird, and you can hear several at once. They prefer the damper areas, where moss and heavy underbrush grow beneath the trees.

In the drier deciduous groves of tall oaks and maples the wood thrush chimes in with its offering, a song so sweet and clear that the heart feels safe, filled with a "drowsy numbness," as the poet says. It begins with a tinkling sound, like the light jangling of keys, or the tiny bells that call the monks to evensong. Then resounds a robust eee-ooo-lay, truly laying down a breathless moment that leads to another chorus, over and over in the fading light.

From the higher ground where evergreens grow comes the most haunting sound of all, the long opening note of the hermit thrush. It stretches out in steady strength, then begins to wander up and down the scale, always clear and pure, finally fading into the shadows.

Who can judge which is fairest? We only know that with such song filling the woods, there is no room for monsters, imagined or real. The trees are like the pillars of a cathedral, reaching high into the sky to arch their arms in praise. Beneath their arms we hear the enchanting voice of evensong. The notes rise beyond the stars to the dome of heaven, and fall deep into the recesses of the earth.

When night finally falls, the thrushes fall quiet as well, but the song still echoes in the ear. Why do the thrushes sing so in the evening? Do the fireflies that now shine in the dark know the secret? They are like the eyes of invisible dancing elves, moving in rhythm to the music that only they can still hear. It is the music of mating.

The winking of male fireflies is alluring to the female and so is the song of the thrush. Whether flickers of light or songs in the night, all this is done so that bonds will be made and life will go on. When we hear the evensong of the thrushes, it brings us in communion with the pulse of life, and we feel as immortal as the elves.

As the earth turns and carries our little bit of ground to the sun once more, the thrushes sing again to bid farewell to sleep. First to sing is the robin, a thrush that shuns the deep woods and prefers the edges and more open areas. His full-throated warble is plain and steady and seems to go on forever. He brings his hymn through the bedroom window, and we recall the evensong of elves.