For The Birds

 On my daily coffee deck session this late January morning, before I slid the door open, I could hear a concert happening. The sky was a perfect blue, the cedar sentinels were festooned with sapphire glints through their long fronds and the air was crisp. A tiny bird, unlike the usual larger seaside kinds, was pealing his little set of hearts out in long, trilling bursts of song. It is unusual to hear such music in my city by the sea with its cars, skate boards, yipping dogs and yakkers passing by on the sidewalks between condo buildings. But here was a pair of small songsters unaware of these human distractions doing what Spring birds do and have always done. I rushed inside to get my opera glasses, yes, bird lovers, some of us use any kind of device we can get our hands on. The big binocs on the book shelf, were too far away at the moment and furthermore I wasn't interested in counting how many feathers covered birdie ears and other statistics. I simply wanted to see who this very welcome singer was that graced our little town at this hour of the day. The bird, about the size of a house sparrow and could have been  a Chipping Sparrow since it had a very rusty red head and a gray breast, but then, I am no expert and depend mostly on my Peterson Field Guide with its wonderful collection of bird drawings and notations. I went later to check to see who this delightful creature was and where he may have hailed from. There was, in the cedars, a pair of these little feathered friends and they seemed to be full of joy according to the length and complexity of their musical presentations. Since we also have Sparrow Hawks, crows and eagles plus other larger predator birds here, I hoped these two might find a suitably safe place to nest if that were their intention. Most of all, I just wanted to sit, sip and listen. I have to admit when the little concert with its small singing star was beginning to lag, I tried to do some imitation tweets, the real kind, to encourage more song from them and it worked for awhile. Watching with my glasses, the little fellow bobbing its head as it sang, I knew that it would be off to feed soon and if I were lucky, perhaps I might see him either tonight or  tomorrow morning. Or he and his little companion may merely be passing through, as happens anywhere on the Pacific Coast. When the two finally flitted off, I began to think how little in this age of technical overkill, that most of us listen when we are outside. Not only are we inflicted by myriads of various sounds: construction, traffic and loud human blasts that disallow the sounds of nature, but we persist in sticking little wires in our ears so that we don't miss the beat of what we call music or business into every step we happen to take beyond the home or office. Who do you see on the street who dares to take all the electronic junk off their heads and hands, and actually listens to anything but what shallowly they think "really matters"? What really matters isn't being constantly bombarded with words and numbers but sometimes, what old Mother Nature is trying to tell us. Once in awhile, we should listen to Her.  I heard what She said this morning and it was more perfect than anything made by Man.