I am hearing our first White-throated Sparrow this morning, a clear sign that soon it will be flannel shirt weather.
I must admit that when I first hear one of these little birds, I always think to myself, "there's old Sam Peabody." I love the high, clear call of the White-throat, and its song is always welcome music. The beautiful, rhythmic whistle of this northern visitor is a worthy substitute for the now departed Wood Thrush. No matter the season, the woods always has its own pretty music.