On bright summer mornings, as other garden birds fall silent, one continues its serenade: the song thrush. Its measured, deliberate repetitions have been constant since the turn of the year.
A childhood memory
Hearing the song thrush takes the writer back to childhood, when the first sign of spring was thrushes singing from suburban roofs during walks home from school in February afternoons.
A family tale
Further back, a story from the writer's grandmother about her father, Edgar Snow. On summer evenings before the first world war, he heard a bird speaking to him: “Snowy, Snowy – pay the rent, pay the rent.” Only later did the writer realize the bird was a song thrush.
A lasting connection
Now, over a century later, the song thrush's clear, pure sound connects the writer with the great-grandfather they never knew, greeting each new day.
