I’m not sure, but I think I have what it takes to become a birdwatcher. A few years ago I would not have admitted this. But lately I’ve been drawn to birds, and I spent a lot of time watching them last week.

Chincoteague is a birders’ paradise, especially in spring and fall when migrating shore birds and song birds — warblers, vireos and indigo buntings — stop in for a day or two on the way to their final bough or branch.

Last night as I was coming home from work I heard the most beautiful bird song. It was a mockingbird, I think, perched on the upper level of the Metro parking garage, and the little creature was unspooling such a ribbon of song that I thought more commuters would lift their eyes to find the source.

Making it through another day often requires that we keep our heads down, and bird listening (if not watching) is a good antidote to that habit. If I don’t become a bird watcher, at least I will become a bird listener. Guess I already am.