Now listen close and you can hear, their mournful cries ring through the darkness. Like a night bird’s wail when the wind is still,
The sound of a river and a whip-poor-will.
There are a few birds around here that sing at night. The whip-poor-will is one. It is a secretive, rarely seen and a supremely camouflaged nocturnal bird who usually starts singing around dusk.
Last night I heard a whip-poor-will from somewhere deep in my woods. Surprising to hear this so early in the year. A distinct childhood memory.
A symbol of rural America and a definite sign of the coming Spring. Steeped deeply in Mountain legend around these parts and to some old timers around here, a harbinger of death.
Eastern Whip-poor-will
Hank Williams immortalized the calling of the whip-poor-will in his classic song…I’m so lonesome I could cry.
“Hear that lonesome whip-poor-will. He sounds too blue to fly. Like me he’s lost, the will to live, I’m so lonesome I could cry.”
Our days are getting longer as we move to Spring. Let’s hope the good Lord and the Whip-poor-will give their blessings to all of us-for many more Springs to come.
A Nine Pound Hammer....or a woman like you, either one of these will do 
Spring is new life, so I chose to be hopeful about life instead of the folklore attached to this song bird. Thanks for sharing.