Whenever a man hears it he is young, and Nature is in her spring; wherever he hears it, it is a new world and a free country, and the gates of heaven are not shut against him”

Could I, like Thoreau, possibly have seen a Wood Thrush in my back yard? It was a robin-sized bird, but slighter, with a longish tail. Brownish back and a bit lighter underneath, with a muddy brown cap that extended to the back of it’s neck. It was perched first on a wire, then at the top of a pine tree across the stream from my front porch. It whistled in beautiful, melodic notes, up and down, punctuated by a stacatto pip-pip-pip.

What do you think it was?