It's a cool gray morning on my screened in porch. I have set up my work on the card table and folding chair we keep out here in summer. On the other side of the window a wren family flits in and out and around the birdhouse they are nesting in, maybe twenty feet from me, separated only by a screen.
When a wren sings its entire small body shakes with the cascade of notes. How it gives itself to its song, in order to announce its presence. Listening today, I hear not only that song but the quieter, less melodic ways that the pair chirps to each other back and forth, around the birdhouse, the feeders. It's a language of wrens. One I don't understand, but most definitely a language.
My fifteen year old son is fascinated by languages. He studies books on linguistics and invents his own systems and vocabularies. This morning, I am aware that the non-human world is also filled with languages we hardly have the comprehension of--crows, wrens, even the trees have ways of communicating. The wild world seems extra vivid, extra dimensional when I remember that all of life is communicating with itself, in so many ways, simultaneously. So many wild wisdoms and ways of knowing.
As creatives, we attune ourselves to listen for the voices within and without. When we remember that at least some of those voices are non-human, we grow instantly richer in possibility.