Muskrats whining and squealing. 31 August 2020, around 3am. Teeter Pond, Finger Lakes National Forest near Valois, New York. © Lang Elliott. AI-gen Image

Note: The recording featured above is a "3D binaural soundscape". Please wear headphones for a profound listening experience that will make you think you're actually out there, immersed in the natural world!

In early autumn, I camp along the shore of Teeter Pond in the Finger Lakes National Forest in upstate New York. That night, crickets trill melodiously and katydids rasp their harsh chee-chee from the surrounding forest.

In the wee hours of the morning, I awaken to whimpering notes and squeals, accompanied at times by water splashes. These are the sweet, endearing calls of muskrats, given while swimming slowly along the marshy edge. Listening carefully, I conclude that it’s a pair, sounding off as they swim along the marshy shoreline.

The entire soundscape is pleasing, a soothing mix of insect songs, occasional frog calls, distant cattle mooing and bellowing, and, of course, the uplifting calls of the fun-loving mammals (I could be wrong here, but they sure do sound like they’re having fun).

What could be finer than enjoying the nattering of muskrats as they slowly swim by, finally vanishing into the night? I take a long, deep breath and then gently drift back into sleep.

What Do You think of this recording?

Dear listeners, hearing from you is important to me because it shows me that you are actually engaged with my content (which makes me want to continue posting regularly). So please share your thoughts in the Comment Section below!

Naturally Yours,
Lang

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Duck Wing Whooshes and Whistles. 8am, Crescent Lake National Wildlife Refuge, Nebraska. Recording by Ted Mack, © Lang Elliott. Please wear headphones. Image AI-gen.

Note: The recording featured here is a "3D binaural soundscape". Please wear headphones for a profound listening experience that will make you think you're actually out there, immersed in the natural world!

In late March, I travel to Crescent Lake National Wildlife Refuge, located in west-central Nebraska, about twenty miles due north of the Platte River. It is early spring and the waterfowl migration is at its peak.

Looking for recording opportunities, I home in on a long, narrow pond only ten or fifteen feet wide and perhaps a hundred feet long, with steep banks on each side. It is a waterfowl mecca, with ducks of several species excitedly swimming about while feeding. Still others streak by overhead, their wings producing loud, spine-tingling whooshes or musical whistles, or else they land with a splash.

I dare not approach the pond because the ducks will scatter and might not return. So I wait until an hour before dawn the next morning, and under the cover of darkness, I place a soundscape mic in the middle of the pool. Fortunately, no ducks are present, but at first light they begin arriving and soon the pool is churning with activity.  

Having run several hundred feet of audio cable to a sheltered spot behind a hill, I am able to hear the action firsthand over headphones, reveling in every detail without disturbing the ducks.

Species to listen for:

1) Loud peeps given mostly in flight: Green-winged Teal.
2) Melodious wing whistles while flying: Common Goldeneye.
3) Taking flight while calling chux-chux-chux: Northern Shoveler.
4) Otherworldly nasal calls (prominent at the end of the recording): Lesser Scaup.
5) Musical bird songs in the background: Western Meadowlark.
6) A loud raucous outburst followed wing flapping: Ring-necked Pheasant.

Ted Mack (right) and myself the day we embarked on our 6-month recording expedition in 1994. What a fantastic trip that was!

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Veery at Dusk. June 21, 2025 at 8:30pm. Cayuta Lake outlet near Alpine, NY. © Lang Elliott. AI-gen Image

Note: The recording featured above is a "3D binaural soundscape". Please wear headphones for a profound listening experience that will make you think you're actually out there, immersed in the natural world!

In my never-ending quest to celebrate the songs of our native thrushes in spacious binaural sound, I search for soundscapes that offer a pleasing balance between the songs of the thrush and the background ambience. There is no end to the variation that one encounters in nature, but, at least to my ears, it is rare to find a mix where the background and song combine to create a truly magical listening experience.

Of all our thrushes, the Veery is quite unique, its enchanting song an ethereal downward spiral of flutey notes with an echoing ventriloquial quality. Poet Henry Vani Dyke (1952-1933) loved the Veery’s song so much that he wished it would be his final farewell:

“And when my light of life is low,
And heart and flesh are weary,
I fain would hear, before I go,
The wood-notes of the Veery.

At dusk, on June 21 2025, I stumbled upon a Veery soundscape that I feel qualifies as magical in its effect. I was ambling down a trail that follows the Cayuta Lake outlet near my home in the Finger Lakes Region of upstate New York. As I approached a small brook that descended from a steep slope and gently cascaded down to the inlet, I was struck by the pleasing balance of sound, with the tinkle of a small waterfall to the left, the gurgling whoosh of the descending brook to the right, and subtle bird songs in the distance. I set up my gear and began recording.

Almost immediately, a lone Veery began singing from the trees directly overhead, its delicate song blending beautifully with the water music. The Veery sang unabated for minutes on end and then gave vibrant call notes: veer ... veer … veer …veer. Soon he switched to another call variation, but then returned to song, finally falling silent and flying away to its roosting site for the night.

What Do You think?

Dear listeners, I am curious what you think about this recording. Given that you're listening with headphones and can appreciate the spacious binaural effect, I wonder if you find it pleasing, even magical? Does it transport you into wild nature and capture the essence of a Veery singing and calling at dusk before retiring for the night?

Please share your thoughts in the Comment Section below!

Naturally Yours,
Lang

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Mystery Sound. Recorded June 7, 2024, Buffalo Camp, American Prairie Preserve east of Zortman, Montana. © Lang Elliott. The most exciting section is near the end, from 3:35-4:00.

Note: The recording featured above is a "3D binaural soundscape". Please wear headphones for a profound listening experience that will make you think you're actually out there, immersed in the natural world!

I recorded this rather amazing vocalization made by an unknown animal (presumably a mammal) in the American Prairie Preserve in Montana. At dusk, I set my microphone near the edge of Second Creek, just south of the Buffalo Camp campground. This unusual sound event occurred not long after midnight.

This is really a rather outrageous vocalization. Especially notable is the way it rises in pitch initially, then gradually drops in pitch, sometimes with a drawn-out ending (there's a good example at around 4min).

So ... can anyone out there in the "Big Wide World" help me identify what animal is likely to have made these extraordinary sounds? These don't feel like alarm calls, such as those given during an aggressive encounter. But, if not alarm or concern, then what might their purpose be? Some kind of mating call? It would be wise, of course, to nail down the species before conjecturing about function.

NEWS FLASH (one hour after posting):

I just figured it out! I did a google search for Porcupine sounds and came up with a video featuring one doing this exact same vocalization (see below).

So there's no doubt about it: It's a PORCUPINE! What an expressive vocalization! But what does it mean? One attractive hypothesis (suggested by Liz in the comments below), is that these are the sounds of a youngster (a "porcupette") begging for food. This fits quite well with the Porcupine's life cycle.

Porcupines breed in the autumn. Gestation lasts about 7 months, with young being born in late spring and being nursed for another 3-4 months. So, the timing would be right for this being a youngster still dependent on parents, yet quite able to amble along on its own.

Note that there are plenty of rustling sounds in the recording. It’s possible there were two moving through, with only the one calling ... a porcupette following mama and repeatedly begging for food. I truly hope that is the right explanation because it makes for a really lovely story.

Naturally Yours,

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Kentucky Swamp - April 15, 1995 at 11pm. Land Between the Lakes, near Energy Lake, Kentucky. © Lang Elliott. Image shutterstock modified.

Note: The recording featured above is a "3D binaural soundscape". Please wear headphones for a profound listening experience that will make you think you're actually out there, immersed in the natural world!

Land Between the Lakes is one of our favorite locations for enjoying the sounds of nature. One year, we visit in mid-April and arrive just as the sun sets. The scene is exquisite, with a white-tailed deer silhouetted against the red sky. As darkness descends, we make our way to a swampy area next to a lake and are shocked by the number of whip-poor-wills, their repeated songs mixing with the bright notes of spring peepers and the chirps of field crickets.

Great blue herons croak excitedly from the far side of the swamp, their raspy talkings lasting for quite a long time. We also hear the tail slaps of a beaver, chewing sounds, and the chuckling of distant leopard frogs. And that’s not all … a deer suddenly snorts and pounds its hooves against the ground, eventually bounding away. Minutes later, another does the same.

What an amazing night chorus … so alive and full of sounds. We pray that generations to come will also behold such splendor, nature speaking in countless tongues!

My Thoughts:

This recording is "bustling with sound." There is not a moment of stillness for the entire duration. No possibility of listening to the silence that cradles the concert, the void from which it emanates. Normally, this would mean that the soundscape is mostly engaging or captivating and therefore not a good candidate for meditation or relaxation; there's simply too much going on. But is this actually true?

Rather than try to answer that question myself, I ask you, my audience of listeners, to chime-in. Let me know what you think ... is it meditative, relaxing, engaging, captivating or what? Where does this recording fit in the grand scheme of nature soundscape appreciation?

Please share your thoughts below!

Naturally Yours,

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Mountain Brook Nightscape - featuring Barred Owls. July 2, 2002, at midnight. Shindagin Hollow near Brooktondale, New York. © Lang Elliott. Please wear headphones. Ai-gen photo.

Note: The recording featured here is a "3D binaural soundscape". Please wear headphones for a profound listening experience that will make you think you're actually out there, immersed in the natural world!

In early July, I camp at the bottom of Shinagin Hollow in the Finger Lakes region of Upstate New York, a short distance from a small mountain brook. Around midnight, I am awakened by a distant Barred Owl that screams and hoots from the other side of the hollow. Other owls soon join in. The concert continues for over fifteen minutes, finally ending with a lone owl giving a slow-paced series of simple who-awl calls before disappearing into the night.

I soon fall back asleep, once again surrendering to the soothing, everlasting gurgle of the brook.

The Backstory:

On one level, this could be described as a recording that features the calling of Barred Owls—a species portrait of sorts. But I do not consider it as such. For me, it is a marvelous mix of two primary elements: 1) the tinkling gurgle of the brook that spreads wide across the sound-stage, and 2) the initial scream followed by hoots of Barred Owls, some very distant, some mid-distant, and some quite close.

This recording is full of depth and the calls of the owls do not overwhelm (at least to my ear). In the early days of my nature recording career, I always wanted to get closer, ever so closer, so that the main subject would stand strong against a more distant background. Now I prefer soundscapes where there is a more balanced mix of elements, and I think this recording qualifies. It is truly a lovely recording and one that I treasure. I was so fortunate to be present there, with my recorder running all night not far from my tent, as I passed in and out of sleep!

A Question:

Some folks aren't nearly as excited about watery sounds as I am. I am so water-oriented that I have hundreds of soundscapes recorded near streams. Plus rain recordings of every kind imaginable. Plus ocean waves, inland waves, waterfalls, rivulets … you name it. I literally wallow in water, especially when I sludge through swamps and marshes in search of soundscapes born of the muck.

Some even dislike the gurgles and splashes and tinkles. Some people tell me that the sound of water makes them want to pee. Yet water recordings and especially rain are hugely popular for relaxation.

I am very interested in hearing from others concerning this matter. Maybe I’ve overdone it with regard to water sounds and should spend a few years avoiding any hint of it? Is that even possible for me? But hey, I’m not a Pisces … I’m a Gemini which is not at all watery. Maybe I’m just over-compensating, trying to wash myself clean of too much thinking?

So what, praytell, is your take on this matter?

As always, I truly appreciate your feedback, so please leave a comment below.

Naturally Yours,

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Gentle Lakeshore Waves. 10 October 2025, Robert G. Wehle State Park near Henderson Harbor, NY. © Lang Elliott. Please wear headphones. Ai-gen photo.

Note: The recording featured here is a "3D binaural soundscape". Please wear headphones for a profound listening experience that will make you think you're actually out there, immersed in the natural world!

During an autumn trip to Lake Ontario in 2025, I was fortunate to encounter an evening of very calm wave action. Small swells rolled in, lapping gently against round stones and producing an astounding variety of delicate, musical plinks, plops and splashes. Crickets trilled softly in the background. It was as if the sea was having a good time making its water music and delighting at every turn. I sat quietly on a large rock nearby, fully immersed in the concert and quite taken by the relaxing yet engaging mix of sound.

The Backstory:

While this soundscape appears calm, pristine, and free of human-created noise, the situation was actually more complicated and I had to work hard during the editing phase to produce an acceptable listening experience. I made the recording at dusk and there was a 30-minute "magical window of time" during which the wave action was delicate and mesmerizing. After that, a light breeze appeared out of nowhere and the wave action greatly intensified. To my ear, the magic simply evaporated.

To make matters worse, several boats passed by during the prime interval. They were not close but their motor sounds were loud enough that I had to delete those portions of the recording. Also to my dismay, there was a small group of people somewhere in the distance and they would, on a number of occasions, talk loudly or break out laughing. So, I had to remove those sections as well. In the end, after eliminating these annoying segments, I ended up with a little over 12 minutes that I feel (as an artist) captures the natural beauty of the moment.

Such is the case with nature. As perceived by the human eyes and ears and minds, what we experience and call "beauty" is often ephemeral. It is there one second and gone the next. Landscape photographers know this well. They strive to be present to capture the most powerful instant when changeable light is just right and all other conditions are in perfect alignment. Nature recording is often much the same, but involves being present to special intervals of time that have enough duration to move us deeply, before dissolving into more mundane, ordinary reality.

An Appeal to Listeners:

Please let me know if you hear any obvious glitches (bad edits) or anything else annoying about this recording. I was forced to make so many edits that I'm not entirely trusting I did a good job. It's important to get this one right because I consider it one of my best "gentle" wavescapes.

Naturally Yours,

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A

LERT! The mole salamander mating season has begun here in upstate New York. Last night there was a significant movement of both Jefferson and Spotted Salamanders at the Bull Pasture Ponds Preserve located at Cornell University's golf course. There was little or no migration at higher elevations, such as at Cornell's Ringwood Ponds Preserve, but warms days and evening rain will arrive mid-week and should bring those locations to life.

The video above celebrates the early migration of the the Jefferson Salamander, and features stunning footage of salamanders moving across snow patches while making their way to the swamp in which they were born.

Below are two more videos. The first focuses on the migration and mating behavior of the venerable Spotted Salamander, and the other is a fun video short of the Jefferson Salamander accompanied by a cheerful, uplifting musical composition by my talented composer-friend Mer Boel.

Enjoy!

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Red-necked Grebes calling at night. Recorded May 19, 1993, 4:30am. Raab Lake, Turtle Mountains, North Dakota..© Lang Elliott. Please wear headphones. Ai-gen photo likeness.

Note: The recording featured here is a "3D binaural soundscape". Please wear headphones for a profound listening experience that will make you think you're actually out there, immersed in the natural world!

With some difficulty, I make my way to the remote Raab Lake in the Turtle Mountains, along the border between North Dakota and Canada. The lake is nearly a mile long. All through the night, I hear the eerie, reverberant calls of Red-necked Grebes, but far in the distance, at the opposite end of the lake. As dawn approaches, the grebes finally come my way and put on a show I will never forget.

Mated pairs call together in a duetting celebration, their trembling whinnies and brays blending with one another and echoing across the lake. Ruffed grouse drum loudly from nearby woods and a great horned owl hoots from the treetops. Though still quite dark, song sparrows (one very close by) sing time and again, as if heralding the coming light. 

People familiar with red-necked grebes might think their calls are dissonant and hard on the ears. But the querulous grebes of Raab Lake impressed me as being the opposite, their haunting, hypnotic melodies transporting me into a mystical realm of wonder and awe.

Note: Way back in 1993, I stumbled upon the Turtle Mountains, a picturesque island of northern forests and lakes surrounded by prairie lands. It's off the beaten path, but if you ever manage to go there, be sure to visit the International Peace Garden, which is scarcely three miles east of where I made this recording.

Naturally Yours,

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Beaver Moaning and Cave Drip. 9 May 2024, 11pm. Round Spring State Park north of Eminence, Missouri. AI-gen image.

Note: The recording featured above is a "3D binaural soundscape". Please wear headphones for a profound listening experience that will make you think you're actually out there, immersed in the natural world!

In the Ozark region of southern Missouri, Round Spring wells up into a large sinkhole, surrounded by steep forested slopes on all sides. The water is a vivid blue and flows out through a cavelike passageway at one end, emerging about a hundred feet away to form the headwaters of a large creek that meanders a short distance before flowing into the Current River.

With some effort, I am able to place my  microphone a few feet into the cave, where drips from the ceiling make resounding plops, plinks, and snaps as they strike water and stones below. I record the dripping sounds for several hours. Then, at 11pm, something unexpected happens ... I suddenly hear mournful moans and whines, and later chewing sounds, given by two American Beaver.

What a delight! Earlier in the day, I had seen beavers swimming in the creek below. with one heading upstream and disappearing into the cave. Apparently, the beavers have a den inside the passageway, or at least a bed of tree stems and small limbs from which they feed.

Reflections:

This is one of my favorite soundscapes. I love the resonant acoustics of the cave drip, and the moans and sweet whines of the beavers are quite endearing. I actually recorded the entire night. The beavers sounded off on a number of occasions, but the segment featured above is by far the most compelling.

At one point, one individual swam right up to my mic and then slapped his tail loudly against the water—KERSPLASH!—his telltale alarm reaction. I doubt that the beaver could see my mic in the pitch-black darkness. More likely, he smelled it and that was enough to cause alarm. I'm just glad he didn't knock my very expensive recording setup into the water.

Some of you may think that with all the moans and whines, the beaver are sad or otherwise disturbed—simply because in human terms those sounds would be associated with such emotions. But I disagree. I've had a lot of experiences recording beavers and they generally make these sounds while feeding or while hanging around their den, seemingly undisturbed. So, I believe what you hear in my recording are actually "happy sounds," made by contented beavers. My guess is the low moans are  made by an adult, while the higher whines are  from a youngster of the year. If any of you disagree with this assessment, please chime-in.

Naturally Yours,

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Gator Pond. May 19, 2019 at 3am. Anhinga Trail, Everglades National Park. Recorded by Lang Elliott. AI-gen image.

Note: The recording featured above is a "3D binaural soundscape". Please wear headphones for a profound listening experience that will make you think you're actually out there, immersed in the natural world!

In the middle of the night, along the Anhinga Trail boardwalk in the Everglades, I hear the gentle purring of crickets, a distant chorus of frogs, random splashes and pops, and chuck-will’s-widows chanting their night-songs. Then, quite suddenly, a surprise—I hear, and even feel, a sonorous, drawn-out growl, coming from nearby. It’s the unmistakable low-pitched mating bellow of a male alligator.

Almost instantly, another joins in, and then another. The bellowing is clearly contagious. And then a male roars loudly from directly below me—he’s right under the boardwalk, no more than a foot or two from my feet! The bellowing continues for several more minutes, and then, just as suddenly, the alligators fall silent. Once again, all I hear are the songs of the crickets and frogs.

The Backstory:

This recording features the extraordinary low-pitched mating bellows of American Alligators, given by males during the spring and early summer breeding season to attract females and define territories. When a male sounds off, he doesn’t open his mouth and growl in the way one might expect. Instead, he arches his body with head and tail raised upward and produces low-frequency vibrations in his submerged mid-section that are so powerful that the water above becomes agitated—splashing, spraying, dancing as he roars.

Anhinga Trail is a hotspot for alligators. I arrived there in the early afternoon to meet up with fellow recordist Martyn Stewart. We walked the boardwalk together, looking for a good spot to record after dark. At the far end of the loop we came across a large pool. Although we spotted only a few gators, we were certain many others were lurking nearby, hidden from view. When we returned at dusk, we placed our mics in that same spot and waited. After many hours of silence, the gators finally kicked into action, putting on an impressive vocal display—one we will remember for as long as we live.

Naturally Yours,

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Exquisite dawn chorus featuring several Wood Thrushes sounding off at first light, with a gurgling brook nearby. Recorded at 5:15am, July 20, 2023 in Shindagin Hollow, near Brooktondale, New York. © Lang Elliott, musicofnature.com. Please listen with headphones!

Note: The recording featured above is a "3D binaural soundscape". Please wear headphones for a profound listening experience that will make you think you're actually out there, immersed in the natural world!

Dawn Music:

After restful sleep, I suddenly awakened at 4am with my inner voice demanding me in no uncertain terms to head out to Shindagin Hollow, my most treasured and favorite natural area here in the Finger Lakes Region of upstate New York. This was not a planned recording expedition. No time to make coffee and fill my belly with warm oatmeal. No time to shower and then quietly ponder my plans for the day. No, I had to jump right into action and scramble in order to arrive on location before the first birds began singing. So I yanked myself out of bed, threw on some clothes, and about thirty minutes later, I was driving into the hollow, going a bit too fast as I sped down a dangerously steep hill to my destination.

I quickly parked at the side of the gravel road, flung myself out the door, and then stood motionless, cupping my ears to help with my hearing. It was still quite dark, with only a hint of light in the eastern sky. There were no birds singing at first, but within several minutes a lone Wood Thrush piped his eee-oh-lay from only a few hundred feet away. I grabbed my gear, including my headlamp, and rushed headlong into the forest thicket, weaving between fir saplings, stumbling over logs, and ducking to avoid the plethora of overhanging limbs.

As I drew closer to the thrush, I became aware of the gentle gurgling of Shindagin Creek. Then, to my delight, a second thrush appeared on the scene and I could hear other faint thrush songs far in the distance. I carefully moved my mic into position, placing the water gurgle in the center of the soundstage, with one thrush to the right and the other to the left ... such a pleasing constellation of sound! Fortunately, no other bird species were singing ... just pure unadulterated thrush music enlivened by the gurgling brook and dewdrop drips from the trees. How fortunate to be here now! I stepped away from the mic, hit the record button, and prayed to high heaven that there would be no disruptions ... no cars driving by, no jets flying over, no motorcycles starting up in the distance.

Thankfully, the force was with me!

I was able to record ten glorious minutes of "pristine thrush-infused music" before a pickup truck came roaring down the road, passing just a few hundred feet away and completely drowning out the sounds of nature. I painfully counted the seconds, and then, once the rumble from the truck faded into the distance, I managed to record yet another ten incredible minutes of nature's orchestra until a Common Yellowthroat began singing loudly from a nearby open area and I was compelled to hit the stop button and call it quits for the morning.

In this modern world, especially here in the highly-populated eastern United States, it is no easy task for a recordist to touch upon pure nature free of human-created noise. So I am always deeply grateful when I manage to find my way into nature's heart, as I did on this very special morning, and be able to both experience and record a brief interlude of nature's magic that should thrill the ears of anyone who loves the music of the natural world.

Dusk Music:

Two days prior to recording the dawn chorus featured above, I rushed to Shindagin Hollow in the evening in an attempt to intercept a thunderstorm headed in that direction. Unfortunately, the storm passed well to the north and all I ended up recording was continuous, rather boring rainfall, devoid of any bird songs. After about a half hour, I grew frustrated and began packing up my gear with the intention of returning home to my studio. But with the rainfall growing thinner, and with darkness descending, I decided to wait a bit longer, just in case our resident thrushes chimed-in at dusk, as they often do.

Given that it was midsummer, I didn't expect much activity, but fortunately the birds proved me wrong. At around 8:30pm, a single Wood Thrush sounded off in the distance, and soon several more joined-in. I quickly headed into the forest in hopes of placing my soundscape mic in a position where there would be a pleasant mix of sound, with the thrushes not too close nor too far away. Although challenging because the males frequently move around during their dusk performance, I must say that I was quite successful at pulling this off ... the resulting recording is really lovely and imminently immersive, with raindrops falling all around and several thrushes spread evenly across the soundstage. As they say, "the proof is in the pudding," and I think you'll agree that this pudding is quite delicious indeed:

Wood Thrushes sounding off at dusk in light rain. Recorded at 8:40pm, July 18, 2023 in Shindagin Hollow, near Brooktondale, New York. © Lang Elliott, musicofnature.com. Please listen with headphones!

I love this dusk performance, perhaps even more than my dawn soundscape. One thing to note is that near the end, at the 7-minute mark in the recording, an individual appears to one side and begins singing disjointed songs, an unusual pattern where portions of full-length songs (fragments) are given separately, with slight pauses between. This is not unusual, especially at dusk, but do note that in my recording of dawn-singing featured at the top of this post (and made at the same location), the songs are all full-length, with no disjointed phrases obvious. I'm not sure what to make of this, but whatever the whys and wherefores, I totally approve of what they're doing! : >)

Final Thoughts

The song of the Wood Thrush is generally thought to be one of the most musical of our native species. The nature poets have given it high praise, perhaps without exception (to my knowledge, none has ever complained about it).

And where the shadows deepest fell,
The wood thrush rang its silver bell.
—John Greenleaf Whittier

For obvious reasons, I have invested much time and effort recording soundscapes that include the Wood Thrush. Early in my career as a nature recordist, I would invariably move in close for portraits of individuals. In recent years, however, as my appreciation of nature sounds has matured, I find myself moving farther away from the singers, always with focused attention on the soundscape as a whole and how the thrush songs blend with and complement everything else in the orchestra of sound. As such, I view each recording as a work of art with an inherent balance of elements, and judge my success in much the same way as a landscape photographer might judge his or her own photographs.

In this blog post, both soundscapes, at least for the most part, feature what I would term "mid-distant" singers, not really close and not really far away. I am very pleased with both of them because they fall lightly on one's ears, with no elements too jarring (excepting maybe some of the raindrops in the dusk recording?) and no obvious flaws that distract from the overall aesthetic experience of listening.