
Field Marks
Sometimes I go birding without binoculars, without lenses to augment my own.
Identifying a bird has to do with quick discernment of detail, often
from a distance – the jizz of it, they say.
Not relying on colour, because there is the trick of light, a bird’s years, summer and winter plumage,
male or female, or a species where there is no difference. Consider
its flight, how many wingbeats to the glide, if it flocks, seeks formations, or lives a solitary life.
Listen for its vocalizations, the trills and sharps,
but know that notes change in the face of love and fear.
I feel for the birds, who toil daily towards growth, hold faith in their bones,
calibrate a million compasses for migration, shuttle and
weave strand upon strand of nest material.
Group hysteria causes misidentification. Many birders pack prejudices
thick as shoddy field guides.
Know that a bird never strays outside its range, but outside what you perceive its range to be.
I am only myself. The birds in your head
shape every bird you see.