An Inconsistent Mind

The Bird Watcher by Carl Dennis

Now the coast of the county is grazed by light.
Farmers are rising in America.
Hunters in the North shoulder their guns
And march off into the woods.
The sky is crowded with small birds.
Unnoticed they scatter across fields and towns.

Now in the twilight before work
In his one moment of leisure
The bird watcher steps out of his house
To stand in the street and wait.

If a single stray circles nearby
Or calls from a maze of branches,
Or hovers as a speck far off,
The watcher, with no one nearby to look,
Points up, and with no one to listen
Breaks the silence, sounding out the name

There’s been many an occasion when I’ve found myself doing that. Calling out a bird’s name to no one at all. Driving down the road, out for a walk, staring out the window, a bird will appear and I’ll speak it’s name.

I am a birdwatcher. Now I know that to many birders that is a bad word, conjuring up images of Jane Hathaway in a pith helmet, dressed in Khaki, field glasses slung around her neck, but for me it is more the more descriptive word.  It cuts to the core of what I do when I’m around birds.

I enjoy the challenges that come from identifying difficult birds, the scramble (at times) to take in as many field marks as you can while you have bird in sight, or the back and forth of trying to identify a more co-operative bird, a look at the bird, a look at the field guide, a look back, turn the page, look again.

But more than that I enjoy watching birds, a raven on the wind, a snow bunting courting a mate, wooing her with his song, a Peregrine, wings folded, diving towards its prize. The species doesn’t matter so much, certainly the number of species matters not. It is what that species is doing with it’s life that matters most.

I suppose I came to this bit of avian voyeurism naturally, a product of my short attention span. Like so many small children the natural world fascinated me. I was long the sort that would bring home bugs in bottles, or happily would catch flies to toss into spider webs so I could watch the ensuing drama unfold.  Frogs, snakes, earthworms, any bit of life would captivate me, and why not birds. Birds are one our most visible windows to the natural world. Who isn’t captivated by the marvel of flight, the frenzy of nest building, the wonder and colour of a feather. You can witness whole worlds in a feather.

Identifying birds followed a gift of a field guide from my grandpa. Peterson’s opened whole new challenges in birding for me. As a young boy I’d take that book (and I have to admit occasionally my grandfather’s pith helmet and field glasses) and head out. The first forays in figuring out that dance between the bird, binoculars and the book. How could something like that not stay with you the rest of your life.

So there you have it, I bird because I love nature, and birds are part of nature. No one part of nature holds my complete attention. I do have an inconsistent mind.