Sound Art
The midnight symphony
I might not be the first to say that I’ve been able to hear the birds sing.
Most nights, I take the 9-year-old pup for the last walk of the day. For those that have taken a dive down my Instagram feed, this face is more than familiar. Even so, here it is again: Laila –and her social-distancing tongue.
For months now, we’ve had a routine, a path, the same smelling –and stopping– places. A few nights ago, as I was gazing at the plane-less sky, I overheard a bird, followed by another, and another; each one sang differently. I stood there, just waiting for the loop to start. They were all spaced out as if a conversation was happening where no one sang over the other. I was certain I was listening to a recording. I was determined to prove it.
I’ve gone back every night, after 11pm. I feel like these birds are the new version of Ring that:
- Are an alarm system that makes the passer-by believe there are myriad birds there.
- Stop singing whenever I make an attempt at recording them.
So, I stopped trying to record them.
Thereafter, I’ve listened carefully, trying to decipher my own investigative narrative. There are around 5 different types of birds living in that yard, and I am certain some types are more than two. They sing to each other and sing together as if they were trying to say something to each other or in a harmonious tone. There is a bird across the street that they sometimes talk to; not as often though.
I find it fascinating that they chirp at night, close to midnight. I also find it fascinating that I’d never heard them before. I was under the erroneous impression that birds only sang during the day, and slept through the night. They proved me wrong.
A pair of hummingbirds did so as well yesterday morning, as they flew –in pairs– over me, in song. I could have sworn they were silent and solitary. Now we are, while they flew less than 6 beats apart.
