On our way back to the car after a walk at Brumley North, Sally and I were delighted to encounter two male indigo buntings perched in a tree alongside our path. The one in the first and second pictures, taken from two different angles, was easier to spot. The one in the third picture was well hidden.
We heard several birds we hoped to see, like a white-eyed vireo and a catbird, but never managed to find them. We did see a few cardinals, white-throated sparrows, titmice, and Carolina wrens. Little did we know what surprise was waiting for us at the end of our walk. It was a lovely day with a cool breeze and lots of green on the trees.
Sometimes I think that the point of birdwatching is not the actual seeing of the birds, but the cultivation of patience. Of course, each time we set out, there’s a certain amount of expectation that we’ll see something, maybe even a species we’ve never seen before, and that it will fill us with light. But even if we don’t see anything remarkable — and sometimes that happens — we come home filled with light anyway.
~ Lynn Thomson
(Birding with Yeats: A Memoir)
It was good being outside again and while I enjoy taking and sharing pictures, to find the words to narrate the experience seems a little overwhelming. My grieving seems to have entered a new phase, where my brain is catching up with my body. (I was told it isn’t unusual to be in shock for six months after the death of a spouse.) It almost feels like anesthesia wearing off now. The fog clearing and numbness giving way to feelings of a deeper ache, a wound trying to heal. Understanding more clearly what has happened. That this is permanent. Thank goodness for friends and family listening to me and helping me through — I could never do this alone.
