Perspectance

November 16, Sunday morning fog fighting sun, five mile walk, down to Canyon Park Starbucks and then on to the little wilderness behind the business park down 228th. Way at the beginning, blocks from my house, the 9:30 LBFJ birds are playing after breakfast. So too the Crow trios on telephone wires. I’ve learned to hear these robins, chickadees, and juncos. Is that the peer peer peer of a Redtail in the distance? The Cok-a-ree of blackbirds? But we’re miles from a marsh yet.

A man blows leaves out his driveway, swirling huff of leaf birds billows into the street. In the sky silver bright above, bird specks swirl themselves forward into a flocking ball blown down through the air. I want to take pictures of everybody for my blog, but a funny thing happens. All the birds keep flying away as I lift my camera. I suppose they do not wish to be captured. I walk along accompanied by bird clans flitting in and out of the bushes and fence thickets beside me as if to sing peekaboo, yoohoo, peep peep peep do you know who we are? When I stop, they stop, still, for just awhile – and then, delightfully as I now notice always happens, everyone comes out to say hi and hold their lives all around me, dancing, darting, dot dot hopping across my path. I am so enchanted trancelike, I imagine one of them might light on me before they notice. Slower and slower breathing, I melt into my own stillness and their cheerfulness. A Stellar jays cha cha cha stacatto joins the now apparent starling choral facade.

A car approaches and snaps me back to waking life, but I see so clearly the beauty of being, and the birds are teaching me something: To know, listen. To listen, stop. Be still. Be. Stop thinking to capture is to own, and to own, to hold. Instead behold. Be. What a rhythm I am finding.

Many months ago, I was introduced to a man looking for ideas about a youth service venture. Couldn’t help him much, but turns out he was an Antioch alum too. So as to the mid stream topic change, little wilderness to man acquaintance….This man took me to the wild areas behind the business park, showed me all around the running stream where the willows bend down and salmon spawn in Fall. I was amazed that for twenty years, I had never known such a wonderful little place was living five miles away. Stranger still, in the many months since he showed me the place, this was the first time I had returned, despite promising myself to at least come see the salmon in Fall. Today, I was dovetailing my exercise, spiritual renewal, computer fasting, and my need to get in one more bird trip for Sue’s class. I knew there would be birds there; that was something else the man told of.

First thing I see is ducks! Great! because I’ve been wanting to tell what ducks are what. I wonder if I’ve learned any of them. Mallards, a pair. White and black buffleheads, forgot how many, at least 4 or 5 – two coots, some ruddy and hefty-necked ducks, but then got distracted with a hawk sitting low in a bush. Blackish head, dark back, brown and white speckled chest. Football shaped, Red-tail? Just as I lift the binoculars, it lifts off – no red tail showing. Juvenile?

Then around the corner comes this guy, the very guy who showed me the place. He tells me about where a pair of redtails have been nesting the past three years, and where maybe a second pair did this year and how this could be the youngster from their nest. He tells me how the osprey pair I had found on the 228th ridge cell tower have been there for four or five years, and how they would come eat here three miles away, near 2:00 every day. He told me there’s a kingfisher, (I saw it a bit later), and to come between 7 and 8 in the morning or 3:30-4:30 these evenings to see so many more birds, and ducks flying in over the cattails. I envy this ordinary citizen, his incorporation of constitutional observances into his daily life. I now work 8-5 the bulk of days in an office with an hour commute on both ends. I decide to invite this kind of ritual into my life anyway.

Monday, an hour for lunch but so busy I decide to at least step outside and soak in a half hour of rare November sun. I walk up the sidewalk and remember that around the corner is Wilburton Hill Park – with a botanical garden. It takes less than five minutes to arrive inside the peeps of kinglets, chickadees, juncos, nuthatches and at least five other birds I do not recall hearing. Little paths go off into Lost meadow, Yao garden, around backstreams, the volunteers Perennial garden, an alpine rock garden, fountains, and everywhere bird activity and benches to sit and listen. I’m walking briskly to get back to work, but thrill wells up alongside gratitude. I will come to know this place and learn much more how to be here. The birds will keep teaching me to slow down and breathe. They invite me to turn daily from my work. I notice the hours of my new job impose haiku on my life and I’m liking it.