Book 1 No. 2: Le Loriot (oriolus oriolus) -- The Golden Oriole
June's end. Branderaie de Gardépée (Charente), around 5:30 in the morning— Orgeval, around 6 o'clock— les Maremberts (Loir et Cher), in the midday sunlight. The Golden Oriole, that beautiful golden yellow bird with black wings, whistles in the oak trees. His song, aqueous, gilded, like the laugh of a foreign prince, evokes Africa and Aisa, or some unknown planet, filled with light and rainbows, filled with smiles à la Léonardo da Vinci. In the gardens, in the woods, there are other birds: the rapid and determined strophe of the Wren, the trusting caress of the Robin, the vigor of the blackbird, the amphimacer of the Redstart with its white front and black throat, the incantatory repetitions of the Song Thrush. For a long time, without lessening, the Garden Warblers pour forth their sweet virtuosity. The Chiffchaff adds its jittery water drops. Leisurely reminiscence, memory of gold and rainbows: the sun seems to be the gilded emanation of the song of the Golden Oriole...
June's end. Branderaie de Gardépée (Charente), around 5:30 in the morning— Orgeval, around 6 o'clock— les Maremberts (Loir et Cher), in the midday sunlight. The Golden Oriole, that beautiful golden yellow bird with black wings, whistles in the oak trees. His song, aqueous, gilded, like the laugh of a foreign prince, evokes Africa and Aisa, or some unknown planet, filled with light and rainbows, filled with smiles à la Léonardo da Vinci. In the gardens, in the woods, there are other birds: the rapid and determined strophe of the Wren, the trusting caress of the Robin, the vigor of the blackbird, the amphimacer of the Redstart with its white front and black throat, the incantatory repetitions of the Song Thrush. For a long time, without lessening, the Garden Warblers pour forth their sweet virtuosity. The Chiffchaff adds its jittery water drops. Leisurely reminiscence, memory of gold and rainbows: the sun seems to be the gilded emanation of the song of the Golden Oriole...
