As the dog and I went on our walk, we were surrounded by the chirping of a hundred tiny birds, so tiny and invisible that it seemed the trees themselves were singing, with a sound that reminded me of water soaking into porous concrete by the side of the pool. (If you've ever had your head against the ground when water was splashed on the concrete edge, as I have, you know what I mean. Think sunbathing, not emergency room.)
The drizzle that has been going on for a few days had broken for just a bit, and it seemed like all the little birds were celebrating the break, and the chance to get out there and get some seeds and bugs and fresh green sprouts. On a small sapling, a dozen 2" yellow, black and white birds (goldfinches? warblers?) chipped and peeped at each other. A red house finch pecked at the ground ahead, and to top it off, a cerulean bluebird flew past and lighted on a limb across the lane.
Hmmm. Cerulean is such a pretty word, and it does mean blue, but one dictionary lists it as "deep, purplish blue" which is what I meant, and another as "sky blue", which, in my mind is more cyan, and is not what I meant. I mean velvety dark blue, like a sapphire or the Aegean.
Either way, it was a magical little scene, with the mists making tissue paper layers of the hills in the distance, the bright little birds flitting by, and the splash of yellow mustard flowers between the dark vines.
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