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I may be mixing some things up here, but to my memory there is a short story in one of the collections by Ray Bradbury in which the protagonist is involved with transcribing birdsong so complex it could be compared to intentionally-composed music. Does this ring any bells for anyone? Thank you!

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Now fairly certain this is “Once More, Legato”, published in 1995:

Fentriss sat up in his chair in the garden in the middle of a fine autumn and listened. The drink in his hand remained unsipped, his friend Black unspoken to, the fine house unnoticed, the very weather itself neglected, for there was a veritable fountain of sound in the air above them.

"My God," he said. "Do you hear?"

"What, the birds?" asked his friend Black, doing just the opposite, sipping his drink, noticing the weather, admiring the rich house, and neglecting the birds entirely until this moment.

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