We know they are here. We can hear them, a repetitive chirp here, a persistent caw there, a warble, a trill, on Murphin Ridge.
We wander, at times on a dirt trail through sun-dappled woods, or on a mowed grass path through bright meadowlands, the woods reclaiming with cedar seedlings scattered throughout.
Honeysuckle vines grow densely along the trail. The air is laden with the sweet fragrance of their flowers.
We hear them calling, from the tree-tops where they perch behind the shield of leaves, hiding from us, taunting us, “Find me if you can.”
On Murphin Ridge, the air alone will soothe the soul. Up high on this ridge, close to the sky, away from the pressing, hurried crowds, and buzzing electronics, it’s easy to stop when the birds call for us to listen.
Blogging today from Murphin Ridge Inn in Adams County, Ohio. Where we sat in the rockers on the log cabin porch, on a fine breezy, blue-skied afternoon,
and watched the butterflies play.