Blue Bell Hill Meadow, a favorite of orioles.
Yesterday morning I walked down to the end of my street to wait for the bus to take me to work and heard for the first time this season the unmistakable song of the Baltimore oriole. Unmistakable because it is at the same time both mournful and hopeful and nearly as beautiful as the bird itself.
They love the tall trees over in Blue Bell Hill Meadow, and that's where his music was coming from. If this year is like other years, I'll see them once or twice at best (they are elusive, liking the tops of very tall trees), but I'll hear the song throughout most of the summer.
I have decided to start taking weekends off on Wissahickon Diary. Too much going on these days. So I will see you on Monday. Have a wonderful weekend.