Common Birds IV - Robin
Repetition allows us to appreciate the ever-present and witness slow change, but also to recognize the extraordinary. This morning was a day for blue jays and cardinals. Above the high retaining wall they sang, swooped, and played. The cardinals may have been due to being slightly earlier with my walk. Many birds are more active at dawn and dusk, and cardinals are the epitome. They are the first to stir and the last to settle.
By the stream, I don’t see the heron at either his further or closer spot. Unusual, but not unheard of. Instead, I see a green winged teal, the first I’ve seen at the office park! She looks like a half-sized female mallard except her wing had a flash of iridescent emerald where a female mallard has a deep indigo. I’ve been blessed with new birds. Yesterday, at this same spot, I watched a red shouldered hawk furiously perch. Few creatures can sit with such rage. The hawk had a rich, rusty, red-orange breast and head with cream colored arrowheads throughout. Not only is this the first red shouldered hawk I’ve seen in the office park, it’s the first I’ve ever seen. Because of my mom, I’ve always been aware of birds. I could recognize a cardinal, chickadee, blue jay, or robin but never intentionally gave them any attention until January 2021. My mom had just given me a feeder which stuck to the window with suction cups. My wife, Amelia, and I were working from home, and, because Amelia was sick for most of that month, we were really working from bed. So I watched and fell in love with our chickadee, nuthatch, goldfinch, and redpoll visitors. Since then I’ve logged almost 200 species from Portland, Oregon to Hella, Iceland. But there is an incredible depth of species in a single place over a year. The beauty of the same walk is that it’s new every day.
The pond is perfectly still. The puddle has receded, so I can walk past it rather than jump, but there are no ducks on the water. The air is full of the sounds and bodies of jays, cardinals, chickadees and distant red-winged blackbirds. On the wooden footbridge that separates the river from the pond, I stand for a time. The river, too, is still. The storm on Tuesday and the winds of Wednesday have finally passed. The river perfectly mirrors the world while flowing to the ocean. I still, too, looking over the water. I pray that a perfect version of myself may also become visible.
Later, at the steel bridge over the cattail marsh, an American robin lands in the branches by my head. Beauty is lavished on all. If they were not the most common bird in America, more of us might see their appearance as a revelation. Their song is the warm sounds of early summer mornings and their red-orange breast has a deep saturation that the red shouldered hawk cannot rival, ever-present and extraordinary.
