Moving to South Carolina was hard, but having spent summers in North Carolina and 17 years in Virginia, there were a number of things to which I looked forward.

The Spanish moss didn’t disappoint: I’ve loved it since I was seven and first saw it hanging from the trees around my grandfather’s house. Completely infatuated, I bundled as much as I could gather and packed it into my suitcase, carefully placing it on the maples and oaks on my New Jersey street. My mother gently suggested that it might not grow there, knowing full well that it wouldn’t, but I insisted on trying, assuming that my love would be enough for it to thrive. It would not be the last time I would make that mistake.

Other wildlife has been abundant here, and I swoon to the flight of the abundant raptors: hawks, owls, gliding vultures, as well as the ospreys and many smaller birds like bluebirds, cardinals, and chickadees. But to my surprise, two of my favorite critters seemed to be missing. Three years on, I’ve never seen a crow in our area, although I see them in other neighborhoods. I love crows and assumed that I’d have some corvid friends here as I have had in every other place I’ve lived. They make great neighbors and their absence augments my loneliness and sense of not belonging.

Even more surprising, I’d yet to see a mockingbird! If any bird represents the South in my mind, it would be those adorable little feisty, funny birds and their sometimes hilarious, always curious, medley of songs.

This morning I had a grueling physical therapy session, leading my therapist to teasingly say, “Did you forget that PT stands for Pain and Torture?” We both laughed at that, an amusing, momentary distraction from discomfort. I pressed on, knowing how necessary and helpful the sessions have been, but having a particularly hard time, needing to rest and ask for water, something that’s happened only once before.

But I made it through and feeling both relieved and energized, I stepped out into the most beautiful spring day imaginable: sun a shining, gloriously fluffy white clouds dotting a perfectly blue sky, trees green and flowering, azaleas cascading in shades of pink.

Removing my mask and breathing in the fresh, mildly fragrant air, I heard it: the loud, persistent chirping that rapidly changed tunes without a pause. My heart lifted along with my eyes as I scanned the tree it was in, hoping to catch sight of this spirit bird who was clearly moving about, belting out its alternating staccato, fluid, and insistent sounds.

I came cautiously closer, but it was deeply entrenched and perfectly blended into the foliage, allowing me only a quick peep of movement.

But I basked in its glorious fussing, and thanked it for letting me know that like me, despite whatever led to its fussing, it still existed and it was still making its presence known. I aspire to a mockingbird’s level of confidence, assertiveness, and panache.