With spring migration underway, there are new voices in the treetops.
I recently went out for a nice long ramble in the woods at one of my favorite local spots, Novato’s Indian Tree Open Space Preserve. Catkins hung mutely from the bending sheaves of hazel, newts marched across the path in silent determination and the air was full of birdsong. Varied thrushes keened their strange metallic quavers, the rain-moistened forest signaling springtime to these soon-to-depart nesters of the Pacific Northwest. Resident finches, titmice and wrens were in full voice, the established continuo to spring’s chorus.
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