This morning as I put my toast in the toaster, I spotted a large bird circling over the pond. I knew it wasn’t a gull. It flew with greater purpose and precision. The bird swooped back and forth along the marshy shoreline. I studied its wide wingspan and the shape of its tail. A red-tailed hawk. There was such majesty in the bird’s flight, and power. I watched it with a sense of wonder, and thought about the time, a year ago, when I was walking along a snowy trail by the ocean, and a red-tailed hawk landed in a pine tree directly above my head. It was the closest I had ever come to one of these birds in the wild.
Red-tailed hawk at Odiorne State Park, Rye, NH
Birdwatching forces me to pay attention. In the past, I might have missed the flicker of movement behind the trees that made me stop as I prepared my breakfast. Now I have trained myself to watch for the twitching of a branch or flutter of a leaf, to listen for small cheeps and longer songs. Along with the red-tailed hawk, a white-throated sparrow appeared in the backyard this morning, hopping about beneath the rhododendron. We’ve seen these sparrows come through in the spring and again in the fall. They are usually around for only a week or two. I was tempted this morning to think that this sighting of a white-throated sparrow in January was our first, but I can’t be that sure. The bird might have been there all along, and I didn’t notice it. I’m noticing far more than I used to, or so it seems.
Maybe it’s a function of age and being less focused on myself, or maybe it’s just making a more conscious effort to watch for the birds and other wild animals with whom I share my little corner of the world, but I’m more aware now of my daily encounters with these wonderfully instructive and beautiful creatures. How much they have to show us if we take the time to watch and listen.
