Blackbirds are common in English gardens. They are not much photographed because they are basically just black, with yellow beak and eye ring.
Now my bird in the photograph is not black, in fact it’s a rather attractive brown colour, if anything looking a bit like a thrush. And the beak is dark, not yellow. But yes, it is still a common blackbird – the adult female and juvenile are more brown than black. This is probably a juvenile, where the adult colours have not yet come out. You can see the eye ring and incipient beak colouring. And the blackbird is indeed a species of thrush.
Wikipedia tells the following interesting story about the name ‘blackbird’:
It may not immediately be clear why the name “blackbird”, first recorded in 1486, was applied to this species, but not to one of the various other common black English birds, such as the carrion crow, raven, rook, or jackdaw. However, in Old English, and in modern English up to about the 18th century, “bird” was used only for smaller or young birds, and larger ones such as crows were called “fowl”. At that time, the blackbird was therefore the only widespread and conspicuous “black bird” in the British Isles.
It’s been a hot day, I need exercise in the cool of the evening. I go for a brisk walk. At length, I find myself walking quickly, mind engaged on some problem or other, unaware of the surroundings.
With that awareness I step back, internally rather than literally. I become engaged with the world around. Trees become alive. My walk has a smoother quality, a bit slower, somehow deeper. Birds are singing their evensong. A breeze arises and then falls away. A blackbird forages close by in the hedge. The full moon is full of meaning as it skates between the branches and hides behind buildings, to reappear in the gaps.
I interpret this as the difference between living in the world and living in the mind’s abstractions, living with the whole brain-body, not just the left brain.
Featured image of blackbird by Stulli, via Wikemedia Commons