I sat under a Red Cedar tree and waited for the sunrise. The north wind was rustling leaves, setting the stars twinkling and buoying migrant birds on their southward journey. Every morning is different; the cast of characters is in a constant state of flux. Ancient seasonal rhythms immerse us in mystery. Beautiful birds following celestial guides drop from the sky with stardust on their wings. I am hoping to become part of the flock this morning. The pre-dawn calls of birds hint at this possibility. They are roosting in dense cedar trees and shrubs in the savanna. The frequency of their calls increases with the morning light and mixes with a rush of wings. The birds are beginning their day.
I love this perspective: "I am more interested in sitting still, moving slowly, and learning how to earn the approval of birds." plus these pictures..... breath taking.
Thank you for sharing your ‘early morning with the birds.’ Just beautiful. I love the question of do the trees know? I always felt there had to be a sense between the birds and the trees, the joy, food, and protection the trees provide to such amazing creatures. Wonderful essay, beautiful perspective, gorgeous photos.
You reflect so poetically that which I cannot express in words but have seen and felt here on my little oasis of thirteen field and wooded acres for the last twenty-two years. ❤️ thank you. 🤗
Sep 22, 2023·edited Sep 22, 2023Liked by Bill Davison
Thanks for my vicarious membership in the flock this morning. How great the detailed photo of the Rose-breasted Grosbeak, with the few barbs of the watermelon color emerging from under the wing. I love the attention to "inhabiting the mystery," rather than obsessing acquisitively over identification or listing. Well done. A pleasure to read.
Yes...to this: "I now spend less time focusing on the small details and more time inhabiting the mystery. I am more content to be with the birds and less intent on documenting their presence in eBird. I still submit checklists, but the desire to list and seek social approval is fading."
I feel similarly about iNaturalist. I prefer to be a "part of the silence." It appears you do as well.
Perfectly said. A wonderful morning meal for the soul, a blessing from Gods heart to our souls. A revelation of the peace and beauty that is he and us.
I could not see them, there being no moon And the stars sparse. I heard them.
I did not know what was happening in my heart.
It was the season before the elderberry blooms, Therefore they were going north.
The sound was passing northward.
[ B ]
Tell me a story.
In this century, and moment, of mania,
Tell me a story.
Make it a story of great distances, and starlight.
The name of the story will be Time,
But you must not pronounce its name.
Tell me a story of deep delight.
- Robert Penn Warren
I have thought often of this poem when you invoke the ephemeral nature of your topics, particularly your use of stardust as a descriptor and the cyclical aspects of migration. As this week is on birding, this poem is appropriately from a collection called Audubon: A Vision.
Thank you again for another Friday and another story.
I love this perspective: "I am more interested in sitting still, moving slowly, and learning how to earn the approval of birds." plus these pictures..... breath taking.
Each paragraph, each poem more beautiful than the previous one.
I especially love the idea of praying to the birds. I sometimes pray to the trees.
Thank you for sharing your ‘early morning with the birds.’ Just beautiful. I love the question of do the trees know? I always felt there had to be a sense between the birds and the trees, the joy, food, and protection the trees provide to such amazing creatures. Wonderful essay, beautiful perspective, gorgeous photos.
This! All of it.
You reflect so poetically that which I cannot express in words but have seen and felt here on my little oasis of thirteen field and wooded acres for the last twenty-two years. ❤️ thank you. 🤗
What a beautiful piece! I felt like I was right there with you.
Thanks for my vicarious membership in the flock this morning. How great the detailed photo of the Rose-breasted Grosbeak, with the few barbs of the watermelon color emerging from under the wing. I love the attention to "inhabiting the mystery," rather than obsessing acquisitively over identification or listing. Well done. A pleasure to read.
Lordy, Bill what a table you have set for us. Utterly lost within the feast and profoundly grateful. Thank you. I'll be chewing on this one all day.
Lovely photos. Could you share with us what model camera you use?
Yes...to this: "I now spend less time focusing on the small details and more time inhabiting the mystery. I am more content to be with the birds and less intent on documenting their presence in eBird. I still submit checklists, but the desire to list and seek social approval is fading."
I feel similarly about iNaturalist. I prefer to be a "part of the silence." It appears you do as well.
What a lovely and poetic essay!
Ah! This time I waited long enough to read other readers’ comments.
I enjoy everything about this post, photos, story, humility mixed with great knowing, and the occasional poems ... + the comments!
I live in a Danish suburb and never see so many birds at a time, but I love the reciprocity when they let me come close. (Today a young heron.)
Perfectly said. A wonderful morning meal for the soul, a blessing from Gods heart to our souls. A revelation of the peace and beauty that is he and us.
Such a beautiful way to start my day. Thank you for the gorgeous photos and words.
Beautiful, but it sounds like they are praying for the birds, not to the birds.
Bill I'd love to know about the camera and lenses you are working with. Wonderful piece - glad for the "Make Prayers to the Raven" book suggestion.
“Tell Me a Story”
[ A ]
Long ago, in Kentucky, I, a boy, stood
By a dirt road, in first dark, and heard
The great geese hoot northward.
I could not see them, there being no moon And the stars sparse. I heard them.
I did not know what was happening in my heart.
It was the season before the elderberry blooms, Therefore they were going north.
The sound was passing northward.
[ B ]
Tell me a story.
In this century, and moment, of mania,
Tell me a story.
Make it a story of great distances, and starlight.
The name of the story will be Time,
But you must not pronounce its name.
Tell me a story of deep delight.
- Robert Penn Warren
I have thought often of this poem when you invoke the ephemeral nature of your topics, particularly your use of stardust as a descriptor and the cyclical aspects of migration. As this week is on birding, this poem is appropriately from a collection called Audubon: A Vision.
Thank you again for another Friday and another story.