when in florida i find the most curious birds, on roof tops, walking through parking lots, bathing in ponds, flying across the vast blue sky—egrets, osprey, storks, ducks, geese, vultures. an amazing wealth of inspiration.
a beautiful egret so magestic in the trees—so casual walking down a sidewalk.
a young osprey enjoying the sun, stretching out his wings while nested in the twisted branch of a dead tree.
a community of wood storks strutting through the yards of a quiet neighborhood unphased by those of us watching.
i imagine what kind of life these creatures have that is kept secret from us. perhaps they survive in a way that we cannot see—that they let us see only what they want us to see. if so, then what if. . . .
perhaps they would have a personal reserve—their own private fish tank.
The moment a little boy is concerned with which is a jay and which is a sparrow, he can no longer see the birds or hear them sing. —Eric Bernet
“Hear! hear!” screamed the jay from a neighboring tree, where I had heard a tittering for some time, “winter has a concentrated and nutty kernel, if you know where to look for it.” —Henry David Thoreau, 28 November 1858 journal entry
When nature made the blue-bird she wished to propitiate both the sky and the earth, so she gave him the color of the one on his back and the hue of the other on his breast. —John Burroughs
when, birds are not birds & boys are not boys & when, boys think they are birds, if by chance they encounter a dog—would that be bird-doggin’—
when in my head i am juggling the chaos of my day, taking a walk, running errands, strolling with a dog, or with my cat i am looking through the window into the branches & leaves—i am aware of the society in the trees and bushes—my mind wonders and i am inspired.