Silent White-Crowned Sparrow

As we were leaving Ano Nuevo, after viewing elephant seals and a northern harrier, next to the trail sat a white-crowned sparrow, just above eye level. He responded to my sounds by coming closer but was silent. He let me take this photo.

On Whidbey Island I hear swallows and Bald Eagles.
I see the swallows, but the Bald Eagles remain hidden.

A Silent Bird

I saw a cormorant at Pescadero Beach.
No sound; he seemed stunned. Hungry.
Perhaps a juvenile abandoned by his parents,
Or he took a wrong turn.

The Bluejay Interrupts my ToDo List

21 January 2008 (Holiday -- Martin Luther King)

I sit in my room writing a “to do” list for the day, when my attention is drawn away by the calls of a Blue Jay. I am not sure whether it is a Stellar’s Jay or a Scrub Jay, both abundant in the oak trees below.

Hearing the calls, I want to learn which jay I am hearing, and I know that I can turn to pre-recorded bird call recordings, here on the computer, but the alternative is to get up and walk to the window, and see for myself.

I walk to the window and at the top of an oak tree I see what looks like the silhouette of a Scrub Jay. It is definitely not a Stellar’s jay, having no crest on the top of its head. It has a longish tail and beak, is larger than the other birds around the birdfeeder, the juncos, the golden-crowned sparrows, the California Towhees, and I think I see glints of blue, although the light is behind the bird and most of what I see is a silhouette.

I go downstairs to the living room window to look for more clues. I am closer now, and it is definitely a Scrub Jay. I see the bird dip up and down and occasionally clean its feathers. It is cold and rainy outside. The Scrubjay (as well as other birds) is insulated with feathers beautifully adapted to the climate.

While looking for the Jay, I spot a chestnut backed chickadee at the birdfeeder and a squirrel on the trunk of an oak tree that holds the branch on which the birdfeeder hangs. Had I not heard the Scrubjay, I would have missed the Chickadee and the squirrel. Now, California Towhees and Dark-Eyed Juncos have appeared under the table that sits under the birdfeeder. And the Scrub jay has flown down to a Bush.
Eh-Eh-Eh......Eh-Eh.....Eh-Eh-Eh-Eh-Eh-Eh-Eh..........Eh-Eh-Eh......Eh-Eh-Eh-Eh-Eh.......
and so on. I am counting his series of calls between intervals of silence.

I am enjoying this, when the Central Heating Fan starts up, drowning out all of the bird songs from outside. The indoor noise seems deafening. I see many golden-crowned sparrows and juncos in front of me, but can hear nothing.

I am drawn outside, even though it is cold and wet, and I am not dressed for the cold. Once outside the door, I hear the sound of the chickadee, just barely, because of traffic noise and the sound of the gutter draining water.

I miss the relative quiet of my apartment in Ben Lomond, from which I was forced to move 4 months ago because of a plumbing flood. Both places, however, have afforded me the opportunity to watch birds at a birdfeeder and listen to their sounds. Both places, however, suffer from the deafening leafblowers. Our ability to even hear birdsong is increasingly drowned out by increasing human noise. Noise pollution, as serious as water and air pollution, is largely ignored.

Io and Phoebe

I name my birds after the moons of planets.
What do they call themselves?
Or do they have names?

Migration

I'm moving again,
averaging more moves than the annual migration of birds,
carrying more weight in books than the mass of a flock seeking winter homes.

I would gladly trade in my books for wings and feathers, and for the magnificent view of Earth, leaving behind the weight of humanity.

The Opposite of Bird

Tonight I tried to imagine
The opposite of bird,
And I thought,
If bird is spirit,
Then the opposite of bird
Must be death,
Or sorrow.