Birds’ Songs

I don’t typically enjoy waking up before the sun has fully risen when I am on a trip. However, that little Knightley sometimes will not let me sleep in, in spite of my own personal preferences. This morning at Grammy’s house, Knightley insisted on going outside at 6:00 am. I am glad that he was so insistent. Outside, it was a symphony of songbirds. I had forgotten how many songbirds call the hardwood trees of North Carolina home. If you catch them on the edge of dawn, the sound is as full as any symphonic crechendo. If only I were better with recognizing bird calls, or Melissa were there to offer some insistence supplying information about the birds whose melodies Knightley and I were enjoying.

Other favorite bird moment from North Carolina: A heron sat on the back lawn by the lake. When Knightley noticed him, he trotted over to get a closer look. Seeing the approaching dog, the heron opened up its wings and flew away, frightening Knightley who had no idea that bird was so large. The heron landed again on Grammy’s dock. Knightley watched him for the next few minutes fascinated, at a safer distance.

Other favorite Knightley moment from my quick weekend trip: Knightley sitting in the car, watching me sing at the top of my lungs along to alt-country Southern road trip CDs. I don’t think it is possible for any other creature on this planet who could tolerate hours sitting in a car, just looking at me.

Other favorite roadtrip music of the weekend: The new album by The National, “High Violet”, is so perfect, it makes me cry (“Sorrow”, in particular; it’s so sad, but so perfectly sad).
(From the Pitchfork review that I linked above, there are two lines that I particularly love: “The National aren’t ‘dad-rock’ so much as ‘men’s magazine rock’: music chiefly interested in the complications of being a stable person expected to own certain things and dress certain ways.” and “But these aren’t mawkish, empty gestures; they’re anxious, personal songs projected onto wide screens. Even if you don’t consider yourself an upwardly mobile stiff with minor social anxiety, the National make it sound grand, confusing, and relatable.”)

Other road trip moment that made me cry in my car: Sitting in I-95 Northbound traffic on the way back into DC on a Sunday afternoon is awful, awful, awful. It is probably what I will miss least when we move to North Carolina.

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