A tufted titmouse welcomed me on campus today, his song such a polite greeting. What cordial hosts birds make, although they are hardly ever acknowledged for the fact. We may walk into their woods and marshes and plains whenever we wish and expect nothing less than the most agreeable hospitality.
At the pond, a new species has arrived since my last visit. I at first did not recognize the identity of the four dull gray coats probing the soaked ground for sustenance. Then, I recalled they may be female brown-headed cowbirds. (I confirmed my suspicion when I returned home and consulted my guide.)
This past year has helped me remember the birds of the Northeast, which has been nice, although what I truly crave is to continue expanding my knowledge of the neotropical birds. Their distant calls, no matter how many thousands of miles out of earshot, summon me with an imperative so fierce it's as if with divine force, too strong to be of this world. It's a holy summons, a quest, a peregrination, to learn what I might from those achingly verdant and seductively fecund forests of the equatorial zone.
A robin has approached me. It darts among the large rocks before me, hides, then reemerges to scramble behind the oak. It departs.
Now a chipping sparrow, whose exploits are braver still, comes to within two feet of me as it scavenges the ground and thrusts its bill. I wonder how well it knows those forests where I too have migrated. I would sacrifice to do journey! To see the forests on a yearly basis? What a luxury! To make sure they are healthy, still there, not yet trampled, vibrant, still so full of life.
The pond is lovely. I must force myself to see. Dr. Sterner has told me that this part of campus used to be a dairy, where cows helped feed the students of Chatham.
The oak before me is nice. It's buds just a week before resembled fresh broccoli sprouts. Now they are full leaves the size of my outstretched hand.
I'm reminded how just a few nights before, my friend suggested that next time I am in the forest, I should climb into the tall canopies and see what wildlife I might, since so much of it concentrates there. I will, I said. I absolutely will.
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Their distant calls, no matter how many thousands of miles out of earshot, summon me with an imperative so fierce it's as if with divine force, too strong to be of this world. It's a holy summons, a quest, a peregrination, to learn what I might from those achingly verdant and seductively fecund forests of the equatorial zone.
ReplyDeleteThat's so beautifully articulated. Our places and imperatives are different (but I've not been to the rainforests), but yes, I know places like this exactly.