We sense there is some sort of spirit that loves birds and the animals and the ants — perhaps the same one who gave a radiance to you in your mother’s womb.
Each time I read your writing, I feel I have learned more from you about how to lose myself in nature, the most meaningful meditation possible. Your post about the fox sparrow may be one of your best from the standpoint of its poetry and its ability to draw us into your feelings. “A man undone by a sparrow…” What a memorable quote. You managed to help us feel vicariously undone by your sparrow, that common bird that you elevated so eloquently. Thank you.
Thank you for this. Brewster's phrase stopped me cold when I found it — the same bird, a hundred and fifty years apart, undoing us both. I just tried to stay still long enough to earn the view. The Fox Sparrow did the rest.
What a beautiful essay on your encounter with the fox sparrow. You are a voyeur-yes- but perhaps also being watched by this seasonal migrant from north? Your captured images offer us intimate glimpses that are so rare- thank you! 🙏
You caught something I've been sitting with — that gaze I couldn't read, the eye catching light, holding it. I told myself I was the one watching. I'm still not entirely sure that's true.
Have you read David Abram’s work? The Spell of the Sensuous? Becoming Animal? He explores this experience, philosophy, practice - of sensing, pausing, seeing and being seen by the “more than human” world. 😌
I have been lucky on perhaps 2 occasions to see a Fox Sparrow and I can confirm that the sight of one, suddenly discerned as different from the finches and white-throated sparrows which are my usual customers, is arresting! My heart beat faster and I tried to soak in his beauty even as the exhalations coming from my face pressed against the window began to obscure him.
I'm so glad that you have a setup where you can sneak out and get closer to the birds. Thank you so much for sharing these lovely pics and your soul-satisfhing words describing your experience. Carry on, good sir!
"Exhalations obscuring the window" — I know that feeling exactly, the body giving away what the mind wants to hide. You were running your own version of the blind. Two Fox Sparrow mornings is a rare thing, and the fact that your heart still beat faster tells me you've been paying the right kind of attention all along. Thank you for this.
What a wonderful essay. Your ability to bring your experience watching this Sparrow - who many would likely overlook - is magical. Thanks for bringing us to your pond to share your experience.
The overlooked bird is always the one worth watching most carefully — that's been my experience anyway. Thank you for coming to the pond. I'm glad it felt like a place you could inhabit for a moment.
Bruce, yes, magnificent; yes, perfection; yes, oh so wonderful! Thank you! I look forward to Fridays, to reading your essays; to delighting in James Crews’ poetry. Becoming disabled 12 years ago ended my weekly long solitary walks in the woods. So I value your writing which transports me almost as surely as being there, being present to all you are experiencing. Again, thank you.
Thank you for telling me this. Those long solitary walks in the woods — the attention they required, the presence they gave back — I recognize that practice, and I understand what it means to lose it. If these essays can carry even a fraction of what those mornings held, then sitting in the blind on a cold April day is the most worthwhile thing I do. I'll keep going. I'm glad you can come along.
Thank you. "The two of you" is exactly right — and exactly what I was hoping a reader might feel. The Fox Sparrow was generous enough to allow it. I just tried to stay still.
Thank you. That detail fascinated me too — the small ground-scratching sparrow as the real bird, the principal one. Not despite its modesty but because of it. The Cherokee got there long before the rest of us.
Great writing. Here in Michigan I have been watching the fox sparrow scratching the leaves this past week. They seem so drab from a distance but zoom in as you did and wow! Great birds. And as you mentioned they ignore the nearby feeder, preferring to forage on their own. Thank you.
Thank you for this. The fact that you've been watching them in Michigan this same week — the same bird, the same scratching, the same indifference to the feeder — makes the whole essay feel less like a private experience and more like a report from something larger that's moving through right now. That's exactly what migration is. I'm glad we were both paying attention.
Your story was a wonderful reflection of a private experience. Much more than just a report. Didn’t mean to take anything away from your thoughtful insights. Just sharing and participating with you in the awe of these big sparrows and the Spring migration! Still waiting on my martins and the warbler party.
Our first purple Martins and yellow-rumped warblers showed up a couple of days ago and I just saw a northern parula warbler today, so they are heading your way soon.
Thank you! Feeling it all myself. This touched on deeper themes running through my life right now. Love and loss and the delicate nature of all of us beings trying to survive. You are a gift.
Reading this, I actually found myself holding my breath in anticipation. Your work is extraordinary, both your prose and your visuals, as is your love for the wild winged creatures of this world. They are magical and you bring their magic alive. Thank you Bill. Dark Water will stay with me.
What a moment. I really thought the dead battery would be the end of the tale. But the sparrow had other plans for you. Their cinnamon color is unmistakable. Seeing them against the leaves many of which are cinnamon too, one would think they wouldn't stand out as they do. But they do in the best way possible. What a special moment. And I LOVE the underexposed shot.
I often stand at the edge of a forest pond, intrigued, as some are only spring ephemerals, while others are ancients—seemingly embedded with molecular structures of the past, especially here in VT. I like to envision the glacial lakes cradled between mountain ranges, birthed from the movement of continents eons before. Maybe the tiny forest ponds still hold the secrets of the land. Maybe like the Fox Sparrow, if we stare long enough, we might see visions from a time gone by. Maybe within the gurgling and trickling of water there is an undertone of musical chords that only non- human beings are able to hear. “…in some sense already drinking from the northern sea”—I will add, drinking the past and carrying its essence into the future. “I wanted the darkness elevated, allowed to do what darkness does, envelope the bird, caress his feathers, hold him softly.” Yes, Bill, choosing darkness, pinpointing that tiny dot of light in the Fox Sparrow’s eye, bird spirit?-or the accumulation of life and death that lives in ‘Dark Water’. Beautiful writing. Above all, thank you for sending—peace, during these turbulent times.
Each time I read your writing, I feel I have learned more from you about how to lose myself in nature, the most meaningful meditation possible. Your post about the fox sparrow may be one of your best from the standpoint of its poetry and its ability to draw us into your feelings. “A man undone by a sparrow…” What a memorable quote. You managed to help us feel vicariously undone by your sparrow, that common bird that you elevated so eloquently. Thank you.
Thank you for this. Brewster's phrase stopped me cold when I found it — the same bird, a hundred and fifty years apart, undoing us both. I just tried to stay still long enough to earn the view. The Fox Sparrow did the rest.
What a beautiful essay on your encounter with the fox sparrow. You are a voyeur-yes- but perhaps also being watched by this seasonal migrant from north? Your captured images offer us intimate glimpses that are so rare- thank you! 🙏
You caught something I've been sitting with — that gaze I couldn't read, the eye catching light, holding it. I told myself I was the one watching. I'm still not entirely sure that's true.
Have you read David Abram’s work? The Spell of the Sensuous? Becoming Animal? He explores this experience, philosophy, practice - of sensing, pausing, seeing and being seen by the “more than human” world. 😌
I have been lucky on perhaps 2 occasions to see a Fox Sparrow and I can confirm that the sight of one, suddenly discerned as different from the finches and white-throated sparrows which are my usual customers, is arresting! My heart beat faster and I tried to soak in his beauty even as the exhalations coming from my face pressed against the window began to obscure him.
I'm so glad that you have a setup where you can sneak out and get closer to the birds. Thank you so much for sharing these lovely pics and your soul-satisfhing words describing your experience. Carry on, good sir!
"Exhalations obscuring the window" — I know that feeling exactly, the body giving away what the mind wants to hide. You were running your own version of the blind. Two Fox Sparrow mornings is a rare thing, and the fact that your heart still beat faster tells me you've been paying the right kind of attention all along. Thank you for this.
What a wonderful essay. Your ability to bring your experience watching this Sparrow - who many would likely overlook - is magical. Thanks for bringing us to your pond to share your experience.
The overlooked bird is always the one worth watching most carefully — that's been my experience anyway. Thank you for coming to the pond. I'm glad it felt like a place you could inhabit for a moment.
Hauntingly beautiful!! The Fox Sparrow drew you in, and you drew us in along with you. 🙏🏻
Bruce, yes, magnificent; yes, perfection; yes, oh so wonderful! Thank you! I look forward to Fridays, to reading your essays; to delighting in James Crews’ poetry. Becoming disabled 12 years ago ended my weekly long solitary walks in the woods. So I value your writing which transports me almost as surely as being there, being present to all you are experiencing. Again, thank you.
Thank you for telling me this. Those long solitary walks in the woods — the attention they required, the presence they gave back — I recognize that practice, and I understand what it means to lose it. If these essays can carry even a fraction of what those mornings held, then sitting in the blind on a cold April day is the most worthwhile thing I do. I'll keep going. I'm glad you can come along.
Thank you for sharing this beautiful encounter with nature and self. I felt as though I was right there with the two of you.
Thank you. "The two of you" is exactly right — and exactly what I was hoping a reader might feel. The Fox Sparrow was generous enough to allow it. I just tried to stay still.
tsikwâ’yä —the real bird. Poetry.
Magnificent. I so love the small detail about the Cherokee name for this bird. But all the rest, too.
Thank you. That detail fascinated me too — the small ground-scratching sparrow as the real bird, the principal one. Not despite its modesty but because of it. The Cherokee got there long before the rest of us.
Great writing. Here in Michigan I have been watching the fox sparrow scratching the leaves this past week. They seem so drab from a distance but zoom in as you did and wow! Great birds. And as you mentioned they ignore the nearby feeder, preferring to forage on their own. Thank you.
Thank you for this. The fact that you've been watching them in Michigan this same week — the same bird, the same scratching, the same indifference to the feeder — makes the whole essay feel less like a private experience and more like a report from something larger that's moving through right now. That's exactly what migration is. I'm glad we were both paying attention.
Your story was a wonderful reflection of a private experience. Much more than just a report. Didn’t mean to take anything away from your thoughtful insights. Just sharing and participating with you in the awe of these big sparrows and the Spring migration! Still waiting on my martins and the warbler party.
Our first purple Martins and yellow-rumped warblers showed up a couple of days ago and I just saw a northern parula warbler today, so they are heading your way soon.
Awesome! Putting up my Martin house next week.
Thank you! Feeling it all myself. This touched on deeper themes running through my life right now. Love and loss and the delicate nature of all of us beings trying to survive. You are a gift.
Your writing brings me so much joy, clarity, peace, and inspiration. I’m so grateful!
💖 a fellow bird & nature lover
Reading this, I actually found myself holding my breath in anticipation. Your work is extraordinary, both your prose and your visuals, as is your love for the wild winged creatures of this world. They are magical and you bring their magic alive. Thank you Bill. Dark Water will stay with me.
Beautifully worded, Stephanie!
Every time Bill, my heart bitter patters. The richness in colour, seems quite clever like a fox. Thank you for your view, your beautiful words.
What a moment. I really thought the dead battery would be the end of the tale. But the sparrow had other plans for you. Their cinnamon color is unmistakable. Seeing them against the leaves many of which are cinnamon too, one would think they wouldn't stand out as they do. But they do in the best way possible. What a special moment. And I LOVE the underexposed shot.
I often stand at the edge of a forest pond, intrigued, as some are only spring ephemerals, while others are ancients—seemingly embedded with molecular structures of the past, especially here in VT. I like to envision the glacial lakes cradled between mountain ranges, birthed from the movement of continents eons before. Maybe the tiny forest ponds still hold the secrets of the land. Maybe like the Fox Sparrow, if we stare long enough, we might see visions from a time gone by. Maybe within the gurgling and trickling of water there is an undertone of musical chords that only non- human beings are able to hear. “…in some sense already drinking from the northern sea”—I will add, drinking the past and carrying its essence into the future. “I wanted the darkness elevated, allowed to do what darkness does, envelope the bird, caress his feathers, hold him softly.” Yes, Bill, choosing darkness, pinpointing that tiny dot of light in the Fox Sparrow’s eye, bird spirit?-or the accumulation of life and death that lives in ‘Dark Water’. Beautiful writing. Above all, thank you for sending—peace, during these turbulent times.