field notes from an amateur birdwatcher

photo by Vincent van Zalinge

field notes from an amateur birdwatcher

by fourth year Natalie Schott

1. Winter wren: smallest species of wren. native to North America...found in woods around home. the word for “home” sounds like the silence after dinner. Last night, I saw the snow smother our home in a gentle frost blanket. all was quiet, all was still. and I felt at peace.

2. Measurements: 3.1-4.7 in. Weight: 0.3-0.4 oz. wingspan: 4.7-6.3 in. Yesterday, I slept for 12 hours and then 12 hours more after that. Outside, the birds continued to chirp and fly and build and chirp and fly and build and chirp and fly and build. 

3. Spring stretches us sideways and tears at us a little. Winter recognizes what we have in silence.

4. Little brown eyes question me as if to say why can’t you fly too? How do I tell this creature I want to plant irises this coming spring? I want to feel the dirt between my fingers and feel symbiotic, a regular in the realm of nature. Most of all, I want to live through the seasons and not become dulled by their impermanence.

5. I open my eyes and they are filled with green, the color of life. a flash of muted brown swings by me, traipsing in a gallant arc. raving and endless motion—this, this is the exhilaration of being alive.

6. I close my eyes. I open them. I strive to fill my lungs with fist fulls of winter air, the strongest most vigorous air you can breathe. I only feel half-full.

7. undeterred I walk back home. The blossoms hidden from a prying eye whisper as I walk by—you have time. I find this in nature most sublime, an example of how to pass time.