This summer as I was walking in the woods, alone, a lovely bird landed in front of me, gold and green – I’d only ever seen it once before, wondered if I’d ever see it again, and here it was.
Of course I just froze. It wasn’t the stealthy, calculated silence of a lifelong woodsman who knows how to approach; it was pure indecision and fear, and fixation. I desperately wanted to learn more, to coax her a little closer. But I knew if I gave any clear sign of just how much I wanted to it to come near, it would fly. If I even took out my camera for a picture it would be gone. I’m like a little kid that way, too jumpy and unable to be patient when certain things catch my attention. That my motives are the best and brightest there is no question, not in my mind. But sweet motives are not enough to coax an oriole or a goldfinch onto your shoulder – there needs, too, a high-wire finesse, a balance-trick of easy patience and persistent desire – that I don’t have, and wish very much that I could learn.
Maybe all it needs is, you know, time. I hear they like popcorn and bright feathers too.