Rockefeller

The forest is dark, the air still and musty. Columns of redwood reach high into the murky sky. An occasional glint of sunlight penetrates the high foliage, to strike the verdant floor delicately woven of sorrel and fern.

The air is dense with echoes of fairy drones, a strange haunting sound like the strumming of a magical lute: at first calm and inviting, then cautiously elevated, with sudden alarmed outbursts, listen...

The drones grow louder, coming from the left, behind, high, low... Where is its source? Looking around, no creature reveals itself. There, just beyond field of view - was that movement? Suddenly, the frantic fluting of a sprite pierces the air, the intricate song conveying some secret joke among the unseen beings... All the while the fairies continue their mournful dronings.

The fairy drones are in fact the sounds of the varied thrush, a robin-like bird slightly more beautiful, with some blue-and-orange mottling. Thrushes are generally known for their eery multi-tonal and ventriloquistic songs, bizarre and difficult to locate.

The high-pitched frantic fluting is that of the pacific wren (formerly the winter wren, or in the old world simply "wren"), a tiny bird that hops around the forest floor like a mouse.