A Matter of Perspective

Photo by Izzy Park on Unsplash

I stretch crampon spikes over my hiking boots and slip on my winter hat, the one with all the colors and a pom pom on top. Walking in the winter against bitter wind steals both my heat and my resolve. I pop my ear buds in, press play on a distraction, wrap a scarf around my face, and set off on a thirty minute walk around a frozen man-made lake near my home. The binoculars I bought myself for Christmas dangle from my neck, ready just in case I see something interesting in the distance. I walk for fifteen minutes, mostly looking down at my feet to be sure I find good footing in the uneven, compacted snow. As a couple comes toward me on the path, I notice the woman’s hand gesturing upward, her lips moving. I try to tap my earbud under my hat to pause the podcast, and when that doesn’t work, I slip off a glove and remove the earbud all together.

“What? I’m so sorry, I couldn’t hear you, what did you say?”

“I said,” she repeated, voice pinched and shrill, eyebrows furrowed, “there’s an eagle in that tree up there! You have those things hanging from your neck, I figured you would want to see it.”

My cheeks flush with embarrassment, her irritated tone lands like a chastisement for blocking out the noise of the world. “Thank you so much!” I reply, as I take the other earbud out and place them both back in their case in my pocket. I look up to where the woman pointed and spot it thirty feet up in a tree. I take in the sleek black feathers and white crown, the sharp talons and piercing eyes scanning the horizon. I raise my phone and take a video for my boys, then put it away and raise the binoculars to my eyes. I take a break to let my glasses un-fog and peer up one more time. I spend two minutes taking it in before moving down the path, leaving the majestic creature to continue its solitary hunt unbothered by my presence. I resist the urge to block out the world again and leave my earbuds in my pocket.

Twenty feet down the trail, a multitude of tiny songbirds erupts from the tall grass, taking flight in unison like a starling murmuration. It’s not all the same type of bird, though I cannot identify any in flight. I stop and raise the binoculars to my eyes, focusing on one of the birds as it lands on a single stalk of switchgrass, bending it to the ground under its weight. I quickly recognize it as a sparrow, and watch it use its beak to nip off seeds from the stalk one by one. I lower the binoculars and take a few steps forward. The swarm launches into the air again, sailing upward through the sky then back down, landing further ahead on fresh grass stalks where they jut out their beaks and gobble seeds at a frenetic pace. I do this a couple more times, and a giggle rises in my chest. Who would have thought the hungry sparrows would capture my interest more than the massive eagle? I never pull out my phone to record, I just stand there alone on the trail and take it all in. Stalk after stalk of native Panicum virgatum bends under the weight of songbirds, each one emptied of its offering.

I wish people could see this, I think. How God cares for the birds.

As I begin to walk, the hungry crowd launches into the air on cue, this time scattering into the trees. I complete my journey around the lake with my ears open, listening to the birds, the breeze through the leaves, my breath. I nod in thanks for the irritated woman who called me to attention. I pray silently to the God who cares for the birds, both tiny and large. To the God who cares even more for me.

A woman bundled up with binoculars around her neck walks on a popular county park trail in the middle of winter oblivious to her surroundings, eyes facing the ground. Another woman approaches her and attempts to point out an eagle in a tree, the woman screams, “ WHAT DID YOU SAY?” back at her and takes headphones out of her ears. She thanks the woman after she understands what she is saying and takes out her phone to record the eagle in the tree. She looks at it briefly in her binoculars and walks away, seemingly uninterested. She stops again a minute later and stands like a statue watching common small birds eat grass seed for a long period of time. She walks forward a couple of feet and stops and starts again a few times. She slowly completes her walk around the lake, gets in her car and drives away.

*Essay form inspired by the essay “Depends on Who you Ask” by Sandra Beasley

Soli Deo gloria,

Sara