The Dipper

I wonder if the Ouzel sings? If so, I don't know if I'd recognize his song. I have watched him hop from rock to rock along the stream. I've watched him dive into the water and come out as dry as he went in. I've watched him squat to the rhythm of the cascades. I've watched him catch and eat aquatic insects, but never have I witnessed his song. He must sing. He has to sing. He has to be happy; spending all his days along the river's edge. He looks happy.

I've shared the water with him. He's as good a companion as one could want. He minds his own business and I mind mine. My goal is to find out if he sings. Most birds do. A while back I was thinking about the Dipper's antics and wrote the following poem:

Ouzel

The constant squatting,
a dance to the gurgle
of minature waterfalls;
the Dipper disappears
by diving, then bounces
up out of the water
dry as charcoal.
He hops from rock to rock,
and checks moist mats of moss
for meals of midges,
stoneflies, caddis, and mayfly nymphs.
This bird, like an aquatic insect
emerges from the water,
sprouts wings, and flies away.