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a lark sparrow September 5, 2002 |
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I walk up on the Hellcat dike and spot a cormorant swallowing a fish head first. I watch its throat expand as the fish goes down until the tail sticking out of its beak finally disappears. It was a big fish. I hope the cormorant is satisfied. I find myself alone, the small knot of birders having failed to find the Baird's sandpiper and moved on. I sit with the sounds: wind, crickets, crows squabbling, peeps peeping, a distant small airplane engine, a jet ski in the river behind me. For a few seconds everything but the wind goes quiet. Refuge law enforcement drives by along the dike. A northern harrier perched on the dike glides down after something I can't see in the grass. The nearby peeps sound the alarm and fly noisily off to the other side of the Bill Forward Pool. I watch a group of three green-winged teal paddling around in front of me toward a mallard dabbling close to shore. Next to the mallard, the teal look miniature, like toys, they're so much smaller. The sun catches a green wing bar just right and makes it look like the teal is wearing an emerald bracelet. An osprey arrives hovering in naked eye identification range. I watch it hovering and hovering. Suddenly it dives, wings folded, plunging into the same pool the cormorant had such luck in. It comes up with a fish grasped in its talons. The fishing must be good today. For birds anyway. Not so good for the fish. Later from the Pines Trail, I see the osprey eating its prize. As I amble south I notice a sparrow hopping around in the dust of parking lot 6. It's got russet and white stripes on its head. This rings a bell. Two serious birders are practically camped there - not just with the serious scope but sitting by the road in a beach chair. This is not a local sparrow. I watch it for a long time, racking my brain. I didn't bring the book with me despite the northwest wind, which often brings weird sparrows. Finally it flies a little ways into the brush and I notice the white on the sides of the tail and the striped head finally clicks in my brain: a lark sparrow! This is not my first lark sparrow but it's more fun because this one actually has the beautiful plumage that's so striking. My first one was a juvenile, lacking the pretty head pattern. Plus, I wasn't looking for a lark sparrow today. I didn't know one had been reported. This was a gift from the northwest wind.
The light attracts artists. Easels spring up on the boardwalks. A woman at the North Pool overlook takes her canvas off the easel and sits with it on the hood of her car. The colors of grasses start appearing on the canvas and I wish I knew how to capture them myself. Some artists, like her, face the west and the sunset. Another group faces east toward the ocean, their backs toward the sunset. Little pockets of light illuminate the dunes. There's plenty for these folks to paint.
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Today's Bird
Sightings This Year's Bird
Sightings
Today's Reading This Year's Reading Today's Starting
Pitcher |
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Copyright © 2002, Janet I. Egan |
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The
overcast finally let up. The sky is a glorious blue with
puffy white clouds. The northwest wind is cool and dry. A
few dozen tree swallows are still around, thinly spread out
over the marshes instead of compacted together in a funnel
cloud of thousands. Yesterday's cloud of thousands of
starlings is gone too. 
A
monarch butterfly lights on a rose bush. A few cabbage
whites and a yellow sulfur flit around among the goldenrod.
The late afternoon light makes the ripening rose hips and
beach plums glow like precious jewels. I'm reluctant to
leave. Everything is so alive.
I
want to hang onto the light, catch it and keep it. But it
keeps changing. Photographing it seems silly and I don't
know how to paint. Besides, I can't photograph the sound of
the crickets or the smell of the marsh or the feel of the
wind on my skin. I'm not sure even painting really gets it.
The most we can ever capture is part of an experience. We
have to live it to understand the whole. 