Common Birds 53 - Chickadees II

Monday, December 4

Long before I reach the trail, clear across the parking lot, I hear chickadees calling to one another. Three of them are at my right hand as I step under the trees. They’re tiny, delicate, whole and perfectly formed flames of black, white, and gray, flickering and crackling in the trees. I wish them a good morning.

It rained all day yesterday so I have to jump over a puddle on the way to the bridge which overlooks the river. The spent clouds lay low. The river is liquid silver. 

On the way back, I am frozen by the voices and scuffling of nuthatches. Looking straight up I see the small blue and white workers inspecting the branches. Moving with the nuthatches are more chickadees and a few titmice, a mixed flock. Then I see beyond them dozens of American and fish crows flowing in a black stream up-river. Beyond them still are Canada geese heading north, an ever changing ‘v’ almost lost in the clouds.

Winter is a clarifying time. In the darkness, which has come and has come before and will come again, we see what we need. We need light or even just the hope of light, and until the light comes we need each other. The geese need each other, the crows need each other, and the nuthatches need the chickadees who need the titmice who need the nuthatches. And I need my little mixed flock: my wife, our son, our angry cat, and our good-boy cat. Together, we light our advent wreath in the long night and pray our hope. The darkness, oh the darkness, is here, but it will not overcome the light.