For the Lingering Wood Thrush

Imagine this:
You have a balloon, blown up taught.  Lick your thumb, and rub the balloon until you make a nice squeaking noise.  That's the sound of me making my mortgage payment this month.  Cliche to say that I squeaked by, but I so did.   And since I am OCD about sending an extra principle payment, it's a little worse than it has to be.  But I figure I'm cleaning out the bank account now to buy peace and freedom down the road, and it all seems worth it to me.

Sunrise on Wood Thrush Ridge

Here's the part I love:   When I pay that mortgage and it cleans me out, I do not feel stressed about it, but feel incredible joy.  I get rewards that feel, to me, so much better than a cushy check-book balance.  Like the reward of standing on the edge of my woods at the day's end, listening for lingering wood thrush.   They have long stopped singing, way back in July.  But through the fall, I can still hear them, doing their "pwit pwit pwit pwit" call (sounds like banging two marbles together), or their soft "mur mur mur mur" sounds.  And I wonder, are these the same wood thrush that nested here all season, and stay as long as they can?  Or are they migrants who chose this place for a rest stop?  I have heard wood thrush here as late as the first week of November.  And then they fall silent, as they have gone to winter in Belize.  I pay that mortgage all winter long, so they can come back to protected nesting grounds in April.   I do it for the wood thrushes, and every other creature that uses this 40 acres.  And let's be honest, Janet Lee....I do it for me.  Because nothing gives me more joy than knowing I have kept this land another day.