Common Birds XV - Nuthatch II
Thursday, April 7
The trees hold colors I never imagined were possible. Fog hugs the earth, yet the air feels open and resonant. Two distant blue jays call and respond. A single chickadee sings. The stream is overflowing with new green. A tree half fallen into the water and by all appearances dead buds burgundy. At the corner of the parking lot between the stream and the trail head, a tree shimmers with silver. Any other time of year, it is short and nondescript. Now, the tip of each branchlet shines with what looks like tiny pine cones of hammered silver. I’ve seen the leaves of autumn, seen the bright yellow, red, and orange, but never have I witnessed this. My only point of reference is the Trees at the dawn of JRR Tolkien’s world. One was golden, the other silver, shining light that the moon would attempt to replicate. Here, before me, is such a tree.
If you comprehend it, it is not God. Augustine said this. God is too vast, too mysterious, and through Jesus too imminent and human for us to understand. Any god which can be fully grasped is not God. This seems true for all things, if to a lesser degree. When we completely comprehend something, what we comprehend is only a dim shadow of what they really are. And these shadows exclude wonders, like trees spinning sliver.
They exclude what I saw yesterday. In the afternoon, I walked by the steam. I saw two small birds flying in formation, one behind the other, sweeping and twisting in the air. I thought they were juncos. They were about the right size, dark above, light below, and they had two white feathers in their fanned tails. My ears disagreed with my eyes. I heard the two of them very lightly calling ack as they flew, danced, through the air. They had to be nuthatches. I’ve carefully watched nuthatches now for 2 years and I’ve never seen anything like this flight. Normally, they fly like darts, tail and wings tucked close, bouncing parabolically from single wing stroke to single wing stroke. This pair shifted and turned acrobatically. Their tails and wings were fanned revealing colors and patterns I had never imagined. They landed together on a tree and were simply nuthatches. I wanted to watch forever, but an actual road runs by the stream, and I didn’t want people to think I was bizarre. I believe I saw a courtship display. YouTube showed me they have a similar looking display when threatened, where a pair stands outside of their nest, fanning their wings and tail, and swaying in unison. Even after two years of loving attention, nuthatches surprised me.
It’s cute that nuthatches have courtship rituals. They’re monogamous and live and work together all year long, but when spring comes, they have specific flights and dances for romance. And even if I can never fully know everything about nuthatches, I can still recognize them, and still watch, and still learn. The unfathomable depth means I can always be drawn further in. This is true of all this, and true of God, but to a far greater extent.
At the trailhead, two white throated sparrows sing together, the notes crisp and clear through the hazy air. The pond is still, reflective as polished silver. At the far shore, a red-winged blackbird barks, hops into the shallow water, and dips its head to drink. An eastern phoebe perches on a half submerged branch. It sweeps over the pond, over and over, starching insects from the air, its reflection flying through the water.
