When I wake in the morning, at daybreak but before the sun rises, the birds sing
their songs. Layers and layers and layers of birdsong. Some is beautiful, some
is raucous, some is regular, some is sporadic, some is high pitched, some is
lower.
In this marshy anchorage called Wally’s Leg, near St. Simon’s
Island, I can identify at least a dozen layers of song. There may be more,
and some of those might be crickets or cicadas - that’s how much I know
about these things.
Our Doyle’s guidebook to the ICW says that a marsh has
grasses, a swamp has trees. These are your vocabulary words for the day.
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