Waiting Isn’t Wasted Time
It’s been 15 minutes since I saw the flash of yellow out of the corner of my eye. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve slowly walked up and down the same 10 yards of trail. Off in the distance the laser shot of a Cardinal and name calling Phoebe call and call. Directly around me there’s no movement. No sound. I’m having the internal debate in my head - should I wait? Is the bird gone? It is time to move on?
I decide to wait five more minutes.
Patience goes against a lot of our more recently honed instincts. We can get so much so quickly, from a pack of batteries to a seemingly infinite amount of knowledge. It takes a concision effort to wait. It’s being ok with the absence of activity.
It’s an act of willful patience.
Bird watching is an act of intrusion. We tromp into another’s home rattling with keys and gear and grand expectations. It’s no wonder the animals are so wary of our presence. Because of this I’ve done my best to limit the space I take up. I walk quietly and slowly. When I see a bird I do my best to wait until they leave when they are ready rather than flushing them out prematruetly.
A typical encounter is as follows—
I’m walking along a trail and I catch a flash of movement in the corner of my eye. I stop walking, still my body, and focus on where the movement originated. The waiting game has begun.
More times than not the bird will flutter here or there fairly quickly. Birds on the move tend to stay on the move, especially when they are bouncing around tree limbs in search of food. Other times they will find a nice perch and yell. The yellers are also pretty easy to spot.
The secret third thing is the tricky one. They perch and shut the hell up. See, most birds are tiny, quiet, and really good at hiding. If they don’t want to be seen, they can typically aren’t seen. So, I wait and listen.
It’s here that I fight against what’s counter to waiting—Moving on and finding a new spot with new birds. But I’ve learned that activity doesn’t equal progress and waiting isn’t wasted time. So, in those times I slow my breathing. I look for the subtle signs of life around me, the line of ants along the base of the tree, a spiny fence lizard, the gentle sway of the leaves in a soft breeze.
There’s so much to see when we take the time to look.
It’s nearing the end of my mandated five minutes when, just to my right, that flash of yellow emerges from the brush. It’s a stunning Prothonotary Warbler. It perches on a branch and sings, the chirps ascending in volume in an otherwise quiet wood. I watch and listen until the warbler darts deeper into the woods.
