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I woke to the singing of a yellow-throated warbler. Musical, lilting, trilling up and then down; I’ve been hearing it for a few days now. It’s one of the few birds that seems to call in the August heat undeterred by temperatures over a 100, and a heat index that has become simply ridiculous. The yellow-throat is singing as I type this, over and over, in the bright morning light. Maybe it’s singing hard now so it can rest at the heat of the day.

I saw a yellow-throated warbler in the spring; a glimpse of bright yellow on throat and upper chest and all that black and white like formal attire with a bright yellow bib. But I see a lot of warblers pass through our area in the spring I don’t count on them staying near the house, but this one apparently liked our place enough that he’s nested somewhere nearby and is singing for us as summer raises the heat.

Warblers are small to tiny birds, only a hummingbird is consistently smaller. But unlike hummingbirds they are often not that brightly colored, and fall warblers are the doctoral thesis of any serious bird watcher, a challenge and a head-scratching quandary of misidentification. Spring is easier because they’re in their breeding plumage which is brighter, more distinctive. Some of the brightest warblers turn pale tans and olive greens in the fall like movie actors stripped of their makeup and costume so they look like everybody else. They are small, quick moving birds that seem to have a special fondness for never showing themselves in more than a flick of wings, a sense of movement in the underbrush, a bright song falling around you from some undisclosed location. I have chased warblers through the spring woods lured on by a bright glimpse of yellow, or that hopping movement of some small bird from bush to bush. I knew it was a warbler but whether I’d ever get close enough to confirm more was anyone’s guest. I’ve had mystery warblers in the Florida Everglades, the mid-west woods, the California mountains, and the Eastern seaboard. Then you’ll have the moments when a warbler just decides to stop being coy. When a warbler finally throws caution to the wind it’s like having stalked this shy, young, starlet, only to find that she’s parked outside your window the next morning, follows you as you do errands, and just wants to be everywhere you happen to be. The stalker becomes the stalked.

We had a palm warbler do this at Disney World in Florida. Not only did the warbler not hide when I first spotted it in a lovely planted area that Disney World is famous for, but it then got onto the sidewalk and hopped around for us. I thought, great, and watched it to my heart’s content until with a flick of wings it vanished into the undergrowth. I thought, what a wonderful moment in this busy place to have such a shy bird be so social, then my husband, daughter, and I went about our business of fun and frolic in the Mouselands. Except that there was a palm warbler on the back of a bench by the walkway. There was a palm warbler hopping around like some tiny, better dressed sparrow after invisible crumbs by a food stand. There was palm warbler in the trees overhead, in the bushes beside us as we walked. But weirdly, there was always only one bird at a time. Now maybe we were walking from one nesting territory to another, but why only one bird at a time? Shouldn’t the odds have begun to go in the favor of seeing two at once, just for a moment? A glimpse of two yellowish warblers with their neat chestnut cap, just once? But there was always just one warbler. So either Disney World was lousy with palm warblers, but they are incredibly anti-social to other warblers, and very social, for a warbler, to people, or there was just this one warbler following us everywhere. One little bird that just happened to be everywhere we went.

What had begun as a wonderful encounter with nature, began to bug me. I began to try and catch sight of another warbler before the first was out of sight. I began to get ever closer to the one we had near us to see how comfortable with people it was; very. It let me get closer than any healthy warbler had ever let me get, and then would only fly into a nearby tree just high enough to be out of reach, but not far enough to be out of sight. Did it know I was looking at it? I think so. Did it care? Apparently, not. Years of chasing warblers through the underbrush for just one solid glimpse so I’d know what species it was, and this guy flaunts himself like some kind of birdie exhibitionist. Why? I still have no idea. Apparently, palm warblers are more social than most of their near kin, but this was a little too social even for them. Was it a message? Maybe, if so I never figured it out, but today waking up to the yellow-throated warbler singing in the beginning of another hot, hot, August day, made me think of the palm warbler that followed us all that day. It made me smile. A summer cold has me in it’s throes, a work deadline is barreling down, and this week is the anniversary of my mother’s death, so not my best week.

Warblers are that surprise that you don’t expect. They’re that little glimpse of joy in the underbrush, or the forest canopy, they often find us when the light is filtered through leaves, trees, things that can be beautiful in their own right, but block the light. Warblers remind me that there is also something to smile about, something to chase after, to keep moving for, even if it’s something very small. Small doesn’t mean it’s not important, it just means you have to pay attention, and be willing to notice things that most people never see at all. Whatever is happening in your life I hope you find your warbler to bring a smile to your face, to make you remember a happy memory, or just to be reminded that even in the killing heat there is still song and a bird no bigger than my three fingers put together singing joyfully, courageously, who doesn’t know that there is such a thing as hopelessness.