Little Dolls of Gold

American Goldfinch feeding on Gray-headed Coneflower

You can hear their rolling, melodious conversation emanating from the sky. The gregarious finches have arrived. Undulating golden streaks descend into the golden grass. American goldfinches are feeding in the prairie. They arrived last night from the north at the behest of the first frosts. Their presence animates the landscape. Goldfinches live in small groups during the summer, and those groups coalesce into large flocks in the fall. Being with the finches immerses you in a web of social bonds. They serenade you with contact calls.

The calls draw me in, but I tend to move too quickly. Even when I think I am moving slowly, I am hurrying from the perspective of animals. They know how to be still. Have you ever watched a Great Blue Heron sit still as a statue for what seems like an eternity? That is stealth.

Usually, what happens is that I move along the edge of the prairie, and the birds fly and run out ahead of me, maintaining 10 yards between me and them. It is like a frustrating little game that we play. The sparrows are more sensitive than the goldfinches. They will not let you get close. If you get close by happenstance, they will not sit still for long.

This time, I can see the goldfinches from a distance and devise a plan. I move up to the tall prairie plants and slowly make my way along the edge. I listen and scan the plants before me. I can see plants shaking and hear the subtle chips and calls. The prairie is full of birds today. I am content to listen and watch. I can see them flitting about, coming closer, and moving away. They are constantly moving, and it can be hard to tell if they are moving because of me or if it is just their usual pattern.

I find a spot where the prairie plants mostly obscure me, and I have a clear view. There are patches of Big Bluestem and Gray-headed Coneflower within 6 feet of me. These are two of the goldfinches' preferred foods in the prairie. At this point, I stopped thinking about strategy and started listening and relaxing. There is a subtle symphony all around me. There are so many goldfinches and sparrows calling that they blend into a continuous stream of soft calls and songs.

Suddenly, for no apparent reason, the intensity of their calls rises, and the prairie seems to surge into the sky and fly away. Finches and sparrows coalesce into a twisting, shape-shifting stream of birds that heads toward the clouds.

Now, their calls fade with distance, and I watch them rise over the prairie. The great swirling mass becomes one organism, an animated cloud, a golden song in the heavens calling out for connection. I watch them ascend, pause, and descend in a low, winding arc. I am worried that they will fly away the entire time, but the prairie draws them back.

The great swirling mass of birds suddenly swoops in all around me. The air is full of birds, and then the prairie is full of birds. It happens so quickly that I have no time to react. Now I have goldfinches perched in the open 6 feet away. I slowly raise my camera and start taking pictures. They do not respond. They are busy hanging upside down, eating coneflower seeds. More birds keep moving in, and they are now all around me.

They seem to accept me. They are watching me, but they are not alarmed. It could be because I was standing there when they came in, and they did not see me approaching. It may also be due to me being relaxed. I think intention matters. Birds are highly sensitive to aggression and rapid movements. Whatever the reason, I am enjoying the close encounter. I take my fill of photos and then start really observing them. Some birds give a buzzy call and defend their space with outstretched wings and bill agape, and some of them perch next to each other and peacefully twist seeds off of the coneflowers with their heads and bodies touching each other.

These behaviors could be due to individual personalities, or it could be that the birds are still in family groups, and the parents and juveniles are foraging together. Whatever the reason, it is endearing, and I am happy to be so close to them for so long. I start looking through my binoculars. The birds fill my view and are now in high definition. The subtle variations and patterns in their colors stand out. Each bird is unique. They have molted out of their breeding plumage and now wear the subtle shades of fall. Some are a relatively uniform yellow ocher, and others are a mix of yellow, white, gray, and tan. All are beautiful at this distance. I can see so much detail in their feathers, especially when the wind catches feathers and blows them out to the side. This gives the distinct impression that they are wearing a dress of sorts, adding to their cuteness.

This is highly unusual, for me at least. Five minutes have passed, but I am not sure. I am still surrounded by goldfinches. One lands within 2 feet of me, quickly bounces off the stem, and perches back at 6 feet. Apparently, 2 feet is too close, but 6 feet is okay. They are always multitasking. They are eating, glancing up at me, communicating with each other, and scanning the sky for predators. When they are in large flocks like this, individual birds are more relaxed and they scan less for predators compared to birds in smaller groups.

I often think of experiences like this as a gift from nature. They come at unexpected times and in unpredictable ways, but they almost always happen if you are open to them. I feel a sense of hope and connection in these quiet moments of intense focus. The smells of the prairie, the sounds and sights of the birds are immersive, and they conspire to inflect my experience toward the divine.

This makes me want to create more safe space for the birds. I know people are walking by on the trails when this is happening 20 yards away. It is like we are living in different realities. If you make space in your consciousness for nature, she will fill you up with eternal gifts. I have a much deeper appreciation for goldfinches now, and I will carry that with me for the rest of my life. It fuels my curiosity, and I am like a kid again, lost in the mystery of it all. The rest of the day, I am deeply content and satisfied.

Later that night, I encountered a Mary Oliver poem that captures the connectedness of goldfinches and all of nature.

Where Does the Temple Begin, Where Does it End?

There are things you can’t reach. But

You can reach out to them, and all day long.

The wind, the bird flying away. The idea of God.

And it can keep you as busy as anything else, and happier.

The snake slides away; the fish jumps, like a little lily,

Out of the water and back in; the goldfinches sing

From the unreachable top of the tree.

I look; morning to night I am never done with looking.

Looking I mean not just standing around, but standing around

As though with your arms open.

And thinking: Maybe something will come, some

Shining coil of wind,

Or a few leaves from any old tree -

They are all in this too.

And now I will tell you the truth.

Everything in the world

Comes.

At least, closer.

And, cordially.

Like the nibbling, tinsel-eyed fish; the unlooping snake.

Like goldfinches, little dolls of gold

Fluttering around the corner of the sky

Of God, the blue air.