A Lost Art
On Noticing Birds and a Flock of Seagulls
“As you age, it's ridiculous how fast bird-watching creeps up on you. You spend your whole life being 100% indifferent to birds, and then one day you're like "damn is that a yellow-rumped warbler" - Unknown
I saw a hawk fly past my car while I waited at a stoplight. I was heading home from Friday morning yoga class. Maybe it was the yoga breathing that made me look up to see him.
Normally, I wouldn’t have noticed, but he flew over me holding a large stick in his talons, his wings thrusting him through the air. But what he held was not just a stick. This was a full-on-branch that had other branches coming off of it. It had to be three times longer than he was.
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The following day, as I got out of my car at the bank, I noticed a flock of seagulls above me. There were dozens, swooping and soaring like schools of fish in the open sea.
They were bright white and flying together as if they had been rehearsing.
I reached to get my phone, but knew they’d be gone before I could capture the awe. Instead I just stood there and watched the show.
Live.
Witnessing the beauty rather than recording it.
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That night, sitting on my porch a motion caught my eye. There, on the other side of the screen, tiny hummingbird flew by. He was brown, not the colorful kind I’m used to. But I only saw his back, perhaps his belly was a glowing green or fiery red. He hovered, the way only hummingbirds and helicopters can, looked toward the feeder then flew off into the trees.
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Then last night, again on the porch, I heard a screech coming from the woods behind the house. It was loud, an irritating plea. Our dog looked outside the screen, searching for its source. I pulled out my phone and opened the bird app a friend told me about just weeks ago, and recorded the sound.
It was identified as the begging call of a Great Horned Owl’s. Perhaps a lost owlet. Minutes later we hear the “HOO hoo hoo” that is so familiar. The banter continued back and forth. The screeching begging call from the left, the gentle, calming “hoos” from my right.
A movement pulled my eyes from my book and I looked up just in time to see a dark figure flying across the night sky.
The owlet returning to their parent.
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My daughter is driving and working and rarely home these days. Shuttling her to evening sports and activities is largely over. Sitting on my porch or back yard or walking around a lake, I have the time and brain space to see these little things: the baby bunny who hides behind the rock; the monarch butterfly who lands on the orange lily; the yellow chickadee stopping to drink from a puddle.
These creatures have been here all along, I’m just grateful that they’ve been persistent until I was ready to see them.
"Ready to see them" does seem to be the key, isn't it? Thanks for the observations