The song of the birds.

The song of the birds.

A few days ago, I shared a post about a nightingale singing. It was fantastic, that creature so small that it managed to warble powerful and heavenly notes ...

I would really love to acquire the ability to recognize birdsong, especially now that my day is full of these melodies.

I wake up and at dawn there is a trill, then other sounds, who sings, who answers, who whistles, who trills. When it's dark it's all a soft song ... but unfortunately I can hardly ever understand who the author is.

Sometimes I see tiny birds flashing among the branches, or sparrows or ... I would really like to get to know these feathered friends better!

With a manual, I try to identify the type of bird I see. I rarely think I guess.

My total lack of recognizing any musical note, I think is the basis of this brutal incompetence to distinguish and memorize even the simplest of sounds. I try to reproduce to Antonio what I have heard and ... I literally feel sorry for myself.

I have no ability to report anything concrete.

It would delight me a lot, even being able to draw, at least sketch, these assorted plumages.

From the sad orange of the robin, to the greyish black of the jackdaw, to the blue head of the tit ...

Among the most particular birds that happen here in summer is the bee-eater. It has beautiful colors: bright orange, yellow, blue. Perhaps, I would also be able to redo the verse of him: he is so croaking and awkward ...