They say that birdsong is a sure sign of spring. Well, this week every bird is in song, so I’m not sure why that bird, or rather that song, arrested me. I’m afraid I can’t quite describe how it went, being no expert in the curious phonetics of birdsong. I stared into the branches for some time before I saw a small dull thing perched on what looked like a dead twig at the very tip of the tree. I was able to match the peculiar sound to the wobble of its throat, so I knew I’d got the right one. But what was it?
Liz peered where I was pointing and said she thought it might be the Fuglekonge.
The Fuglekonge, or crested wren, is Europe’s smallest bird, and rather rare, according to the bird book. I was impressed that we’d found a Fuglekonge without even trying, but the bird book also suggested that what we’d seen was actually a Stillids, or common goldfinch. Now Liz says it’s a goldfinch for sure, but I’m sticking to my small bird story.
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