CENTRAL MAINE • May 8, 2024
When you’re unsure of the implications of what’s going on in your woods, it almost always pays to check with Thoreau. In July 1859 he notes: “Begin to hear the sharp, brisk dittle-ittle-ittle of the wren amid the grass and reeds, generally invisible.” “Invisible” is a striking word, for me, because my winter wrens exist as unseen song. But he seems to be talking about a marsh wren. The winter wren, bravely singing with every ounce of energy in its little body, channels the sound of the cosmos gripping down and beginning to awaken. The astronomical beauty of spring right there in the woods, in the music of the winter wrens. ~ Dana Wilde