Most of the time, they are too deep in the brush and woods to be seen, but there is no mistaking the soft, sweet singing of little chicks following their mother. The singing of chicks foraging with their mother is one of the lovely sounds I’m so lucky to hear. The nearest I can come to describing it is the chiming of little bells in the grass.
Yesterday we had the madness of driving through Seattle. There are no mother hens taking their singing chicks through the woods there. It’s an aggravating insanity of concrete, jarring noise, and all day traffic jams. Odd that the brilliant minds conjure up such aggravating places to live.