One of the highest points on my ridge-top country lane is a nearby utility pole.
It has been commandeered by a remarkable creature — the most talented mockingbird I have yet to hear.
Morning and evening, that bird sits up there singing his heart out.
I’m surprised he doesn’t hav a flock of females swooning around him because, well, he’s just that good.
As he flashes his white wing bars and cocks his tail, it occurs to me that he is, not doubt, an Elvis among mockingbirds.